And So the Sun Saved a Wolf
by Nanso
Summary: In which Elia Martell manages to save Brandon Stark before the Mad King kills him - and everything changes.
1. Prologue - Brandon

When Brandon Stark awoke, he thought perhaps he was dead. _This is not the black cells_, he thought.

_The Mad King must have killed me too._

He remembered watching his father burn in the Great Hall of the Red Keep as that filthy, mangy silver devil cackled, sitting upon the bloody iron throne.

Brandon had tried so hard to get to his father before darkness consumed him.

And now - now he heard a faint, soft humming by him. He blinked, trying to figure out where exactly he was.

Sunlight was hitting his face and it felt wonderful. _Yes, I am dead. _He winced in pain, a sharp jolt stinging his neck. Then he remembered that something had bound his neck as he tried to get to his father.

_Maybe I am not dead, my neck hurts too damn much for me to be dead. But this is the South. Maybe I'm in one of their seven hells and that's why it hurts._

As his eyes adjusted, he slowly turned his head to see a woman gently tending to his neck. A beautiful woman. She looked familiar but his brain was too garbled to place her while he was trying to figure out if he was alive or dead.

Dark wavy hair framed a thin, tan face. When he moved his arm, she startled, pulling her hand from his neck and gazing at him. He was greeted by globes of dark honey, tints of sadness notable even in her surprised state.

"Lord Stark! Oh, you're awake," she breathed in relief.

"Princess?" he croaked. "Princess Elia?"

A small smile graced her face. "Be careful, your wound is still quite fresh. I'm just redressing it," she said gently, returning to her task.

"Why are you here and not a maester?" he asked weakly.

Her lips formed a tense line. "I do not trust the maester here. And I needed to know - be sure - you were well."

When she moved over him slightly to the other side of his neck, he froze. The other side of her face that had not been visible before was slightly swollen and covered with a dark purple and black bruise.

He reached a hand up to her cheek slowly, which she saw out of the corner of her eye, but ignored and continued on her task. _Who would hit a woman? The Princess no less? Maybe it was that cursed Prince. _"Who...who did this to you?" he asked, voice shaking with anger.

He heard a loud, anxious swallow. "It is not important."

"It is. Please tell me, Princess."

She drew her hands back to her lap and sighed as she looked at him. "I will tell you, but you must promise not to get angry. I do not want you straining your neck and making your wound worse. Are we clear?" she commanded sternly. _Gods, I did not expect her to have such steel in her voice._

He gave her a small nod. She looked at him for a few moments, perhaps still considering if he'd honor that agreement, before she spoke. "The King."

Now he knew why she said that. He tried to restrain himself, slightly easier because of his weakened state, but he could still feel his blood boiling. His father burning flashed through his mind.

"Why?" he asked, voice strained with rage.

"I asked him not to kill you, to release the strangle device that was placed on you. This was for my..." she paused briefly touching her cheek, wincing, before she continued. "For my insolence, he said."

Another memory comes back to him then just before he passed out in the Great Hall. A woman pleading with the crazed man for him. He looked at her with wide eyes. "That was you? Why?"

"Should I not have?" she asked, slightly bemused.

He let out a small incredulous laugh. It felt odd to laugh in such dark times. "No, I'm glad that you did. For I seem to be alive now. I assume I have you to thank for that then?"

"Do not thank me yet. I had to lie to him to convince him. After he hit me, I said perhaps it was better if you were alive so that the Northern lords could be witness to your trial for treachery and pledge their fealty to him," she said dryly. "It appears to have worked...for now. But I don't know how long I can keep this up."

He looked at her shocked. What was this woman doing? What was going on?

_Perhaps I am dead, this makes no sense._

"I don't understand. Why do you want to help me?" he asked, still not understanding.

She sighed as she gave him a look of exasperation. It reminded him of the way his mother would look at him when he asked why he must go to lessons with the Maester. "Gods, Brandon Stark! We barely know each other and yet you seem convinced that I'm either heartless or stupid - or both! Do you not see that the realm will be engulfed in war now that Aerys has killed your father?" Her eyes shifted from exasperation to concern and she gripped his hand then. "The King had many of you and your father's men killed as well. We have to find a way to solve this before too many others die, do you not see?" she told him urgently.

He gulped, taking in what she was saying. Surely the North would rise when they heard of his father's death. _Father_. Perhaps they already had.

"I need to write to Ned...and Gods! Where is my sister?" he was starting to get agitated now.

"Now on that last front I can be of service," she said flatly before rising and walking to a desk near them, the dark blue silk of her dress swirling at her feet. She returned holding a piece of paper and handed it to him. "Read this, read it again, then speak. And please try to do so rationally," she said matter-of-factly as she sat down by the bed once more.

He took the paper as he eyed her skeptically and started to read. _This is Lyanna's writing! Wait…_

His eyes darted to Elia with an incredulous look and then he remembered her words, so he read the letter again. It didn't help.

"She…she went with him willingly?" he said in what could only be described as a whispered scream.

Elia raised her eyebrows and nodded before taking the letter back. "I received that on Dragonstone just after my oh-so-gallant husband left to, as I found out from this letter, meet with her. I suppose she thought he would receive this last missive before he left. When I read her words that she would be 'eagerly awaiting' him, well - it seemed clear enough then. Especially after what happened at Harrenhal."

He groaned, sinking into the bed. "What the fuck, Lyanna? I came here for her! Father, Gods!" _What madness was this? _Tears began to sting his eyes.

She slowly raised a hand to his cheek, her touch surprising him, but not bothering him. In fact, it was rather comforting. "I'm sorry."

He looked at her, his eyes full of grief and anger. "Why are you apologizing to me? My sister...my sister ran off with your husband!"

She smiled weakly. "I am sorry for your loss, I mean. For your father. I know what it is to lose a parent, though not in such a manner. I am sorry that you had to go through that," she told him quietly.

He looked at her, and placed a hand over hers, closing his eyes. He couldn't keep the tears from falling - it was maddening, all these emotions, this pain.

_Perhaps I would rather be dead after all._

"Rest now, we'll find a way forward. You will not die, Lord Stark. I shall not let you," Elia told him, cool and determined.

* * *

**_Not entirely sure where this is headed but if you're even remotely interested - please review, follow, favorite! Also check out my other fic 'Finding Peace' if you have time!_**


	2. A Bit of Theatre - or: Death in 3 Acts

"_In the wake of Duskendale, the king also began to display signs of an ever-increasing obsession with dragonfire, similar to that which had haunted several of his forebears."_

* * *

The sun had descended long ago. Now all the light that filled the throne room was from the army of mounted torches along the walls. They shone of the dullest reds and oranges.

Aerys sat on the throne and watched as the three pyromancers entered the room, their steps quicker and more energetic than usual. That was quite a feat - as it was, they were already always eager to please their king and his fascination with their craft.

"Lord Rossart, what do you want? It is late for an audience." While the King may have enjoyed the pyromancers, his favor was fickle and his moods even more. "We aren't burning the Stark lordling yet. I want his brother and the other traitors to watch when we do," he decreed greedily.

"My gracious King, I apologize for the late hour. But this news could not be delayed,'' Rossart, the grand master, replied with a bow. Then he pulled out a piece of parchment from the folds of his robes.

Aerys raised his head up, his eyes peering down towards the parchment with curiosity. "Well, get on with it then."

"We received this letter from our brothers in Asshai, my King," he breathed with excitement. "They bring us most excellent tidings."

The Hand of the King spoke then. "Asshai? What do you mean?" Owen Merryweather asked, confusion apparent in the old man's voice and aged mind. It was amazing he even asked a question. Most thought the lord only equipped for laughing at the King's ill-humored japes. They weren't funny, not one bit, not in the slightest.

"Our Guild has a presence in Asshai, Lord Hand. We have not been in touch with them for some time, but they have become aware of our efforts to…" Then he looked to the King. "To bring back the creatures of our great King and his line. Dragons."

"Tell me," Aerys commanded tightly. _Will my dreams come to be? Shall I finally be given what am I owed from my ancestors? _

"Might someone be able to retrieve some of the stone eggs at Dragonstone, my King?" Rossart asked. "If these words are to be believed, we shall set them free at last."

"If you believe it true, then we shall retrieve one or two, Lord Rossart," the silver-haired King said steadily, though there was still an edge to his voice as always.

"You are, as always, ever gracious, my King," Rossart said with another obsequious bow. "I should note that…"

"Yes? Spit it out, man!" Aerys demanded.

For the first time since Merryweather could recall meeting him, Rossart looked apprehensive. Nervous.

Scared.

"The method is a bit...extreme," the grand master and Wisdom finally conceded.

Aerys hands clasped the throne, not noticing the blood that had started to stream from the blades against his skin. As his gaze centered on the parchment in Rossart's hand, a devious smile began to tug at the corner of his lips until it was so wide that all he could do was laugh.

* * *

Dinner tonight would not be what Elia had expected.

Though perhaps she had not actually known what to expect.

She fidgeted in her chair slightly, gently spearing a small piece of meat on her plate. As she lifted the fork to her mouth, she glanced up and met eyes with Rhaella who gave her a small smile.

"How do you find the meal tonight, good-daughter?" the Queen asked the Dornish princess casually.

"You should eat more," the King interjected brusquely. "You need to fatten up. Thought you would have more flesh on you after that baby. Lost it all already, did you?" he sneered.

Her face tightened as she sported a small smile. "You are ever wise, my King. I do need to eat more." He glowered at her before turning his attention to his own plate. Elia looked to Rhaella. "It's quite perfect, good-mother."

"At least I know this last babe is actually my son's, he has our look," the King muttered as he shoveled food in his mouth. "Not like the first one." Elia stifled the welling anger as her stomach tightened even more at his words.

It was then that there was a knock at the large door. The King looked up quickly, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "In! Come in!" Aerys barked as a crazed smile formed on his face, watching as Ser Jaime and Ser Barristan opened the door.

Elia and Rhaella exchanged a nervous glance.

Four men entered - three who were clearly from the Alchemist's Guild for these pyromancers were often - _too often_ \- at court. And the fourth...well, all Elia realized he held a harp. Looking at the instrument made her want to tear it into pieces. _Why couldn't it be a lute? By the Seven, even a drum would be better._ She could fall asleep to a snare drum better than a harp these days.

The King rose, both hands placed firmly on the table. He braced himself on them and leaned forward as his gaze bred fire staring at the pyromancers.

"Do you have everything?" he asked, with a sharp edge to his voice.

The three pyromancers nodded, nearly as excited as the King. "Yes, my King," Lord Rossart confirmed.

"To the throne room then," he hissed with a smile. He looked to Rhaella and then Elia. "You, too. Both of you."

Rhaella rose from her chair slowly, as did Elia, smoothing her dress as she began to walk towards her brother-husband. "What are we to see in the throne room, my King?" she asked evenly, though a gulp was audible to those that were closest.

She had barely spoken the words before a sharp slap against her face threw her down to the cold marble floor. She was left reeling, clutching her cheek. When she pulled her hand down slowly, she found blood on her palm.

"Quiet! You will find out when we get there," the King berated her. "Ungrateful woman," he hissed. As he walked out the doors leaving Rhaella behind, Eila rushed to her. The young Lannister knight looked at the two women with wide eyes before he was drawn away by Ser Barristan.

"Rhaella!" Elia whispered urgently, gently clasping her good-mother's shoulders.

The Queen regained her composure, straightening herself back up. She closed her eyes for a moment, taking a few deep breaths, before opening her eyes to look at her sweet good-daughter.

"This is but a scratch compared to his normal ways, my love," she said quietly. "Come, we should not keep him waiting." Elia placed her arm beneath Rhaella's, clasping her wrist firmly as she helped raise her up. When she was righted, they began to make their way to the throne room, their bodies supporting the other.

Aerys had taken a seat on the throne and the three pyromancers were on the steps below with the harpist to the side.

As Wisdoms Garigus and Belis meddled with a cart that was filled with bottles of liquids - _green_, Elia noted - Lord Rossart moved to display something for the king.

With a flourish, he removed a piece of cloth covering an item in the other hand.

Gold and silver sparkled before them all.

_A dragon egg. _

"Ah, yes," Aerys let out with eager contentment. "I know this egg. This shall do well. The perfect coloring for our dragons to be reborn."

Rossart answered the King with a slow and obsequious nod.

The harpist took a seat and glanced at the others before cautiously moving his eyes towards the King.

"You," Aerys commanded. "Play a tune. And make it better than those sad songs my ungrateful son is so fond of."

The harpist nodded hurriedly as he adjusted his instrument. He began with cautious notes, as though he was composing in the moment to illustrate the tension in the room.

"Now, shall we begin, Lord Rossart?" the King asked. Though it was, of course, a demand. He never truly asked.

The notes from the harp dripped slowly throughout the hall, echoing across the throne room like a babe making its first steps and hoping it would not fall.

Rossart walked towards Aerys, beckoning the other pyromancers to follow with their cart of goods. It clanked and squeaked as they wheeled it closer to the throne before finally stopping before the steps. Rossart closed the gap between himself and the cart and picked up a small item from it.

Elia eyed it from where she stood, finally deciphering that it was a dagger.

A Valyrian steel dagger.

"Shall..shall I do this for you, my King, or would you prefer to do it yourself?" Rossart asked hesitantly, though there was an edge of excitement in his voice nonetheless. Ser Barristan moved closer to the King then before he was waved off.

"Give it here," Aerys seethed as he grabbed the dagger from the lickspittle pyromancer's hands. "I can cut myself, I need no help."

It was a nearly true statement.

The music of the harp turned, a melody that was sweet but every so often hit a dissonant note. It was then that the Mad King brought the beautiful dagger to his palm and sliced it open.

"Well, bring the vial here! Quickly!" he screeched.

Ser Jaime looked at Barristan Selmy, his eyes questioning how long they would let this continue. But the older knight gave him no answer.

Garigus and Belis scrambled towards the throne, the latter holding the vial of green liquid, while the first brought clothes towards their King. Then Aerys brought his palm over the bottle of wildfire and let his blood fall in, drop by drop.

And the harpist adjusted his rhythm to the pace of the spilling blood. Purple eyes watched anxiously, earnestly, greedily, as red mingled with green, creating a dark brown.

As Elia watched, she wondered if her good-father was offended by the color before him.

"Well," the King uttered impatiently. "Is that enough?"

Rossart licked his lips, eyeing the vial before them. "Yes, yes. I think that shall do, my King."

Aerys wrenched his hand away and after snatching a cloth from Garigus, pressed it to his palm to staunch the blood. The whole time his eyes never strayed from the vial however.

Then Rossart picked up the dragon egg and using the dagger, he scraped pieces of the shell into the bottle that held the King's blood and wildfire. When it seemed to be enough, he placed the egg back on its pillow and eyed the vial. The light of the torches shone against it but could not pierce through the liquid inside.

"Here you are, your Grace. Once you have drunk this liquid, we must slice your palm once more so that the new mixture of your blood can be placed upon the egg while it burns," he uttered nervously. "According to our instructions."

Aerys grabbed the vial from him and without hesitation, drank it contents whole, gulp and after gulp. The harpist ceased his touches without command.

After finishing the contents, the King threw the bottle against the wall, shattering the glass to pieces. He panted for air as he wiped his lips with the sleeve of his dirty silk robe.

"It is done. I feel nothing. Why do I feel nothing, Rossart?" Wild purple eyes moved to the harpist in a flash. "You! I did not tell you to stop!

Frantic notes of the harp filled the air quickly. And then - and then, the nervous, tenuous music began to mingle in the air with a sound all too familiar to the hall - the crazed laughter of the King.

"Yes...yes!" he screeched, laughing. "I can FEEL it!" He rose from the throne unsteadily, his arm slicing against the throne as he moved a few steps away from it.

"This is it! I will burn and be reborn! Let it be done!" he yelled to the heavens as though the gods of old Valyria were there listening, just for him.

Of course, that was not what was about to occur. Quite the opposite, in fact. Perhaps it was the Gods' way of righting the King's wrongs by having him perish this way - after taking the lives of so many others by flame.

Perhaps it was just how it was meant to be.

And perhaps men create these paths of demise for themselves the moment they commit their ills upon others.

It was then that The Mad King's laughter took a sharp turn, strangling itself as the King seemed to grasp for air. His eyes went wider than anyone had ever seen, and steadily purple was overtaken by red.

"Ross-a-" the King croaked, his hands frantically scraping at his throat. His long, dirty nails sliced at the pale, thin skin of his throat, drawing blood and flesh with each movement.

Rhaella screamed at the Kingsguard to do something, to help their King. Her screaming command broke the knights out of their shock and they moved to the King quickly. But their swords could be of no use now.

The King swirled around, his feet dancing in a circle as the wildfire he loved so dearly moved through his body, bit by bit, letting him experience it as no one should. Finally his body fell below the Iron Throne like an offering.

And then Aerys of House Targaryen, the second of his name, died. A puff of smoke left his lips as he left this earth.

Silence claimed the room but for jagged breaths of shock and the small fizzles from the King's body as the wildfire continued to work its way through him.

After a few moments, Rhaella turned to the pyromancers finally. "What have you done," she hissed.

Rossart balked and then silence claimed the air once more before he finally spoke. "The instructions were clear as day, my Queen! I swear to you!"

"Is this clear?" she inquired with fury, gesturing to the body of the King. "This information was clearly false, Lord Rossart," Rhaella seethed. "Who sent it?"

"It was our brother alchemists in Asshai, my Queen!" he testified earnestly. "We received the letter not that long ago!"

It was then that Ser Jaime looked to Rhaella, the tan of his youthful skin all but gone as he paled hearing those words.

"Asshai?" Rhaella questioned. "What cause would they have to involve themselves with the affairs of Westeros pray tell?"

But the pyromancer had no answer. He looked at the body of the King, limp, skin beginning to bubble, before his pleading eyes went back to the silver woman before him.

"Ser Barristan, seize these men!" the Queen commanded. "And hand me the letter so that we may investigate its source."

As the pyromancers were led away and the King's body fizzled from the wildfire within, Elia wondered if the harp had been more fitting for the moment after all.

* * *

Elia and Rhaella sat in the Queen's solar, sipping wine. It was quiet but for their breaths and the sounds of the fire in the hearth before them.

"How do you fare?" Elia asked quietly.

Rhaella looked to her, her expression thoughtful, though her face did not betray her mind enough to answer without words spoken.

"I don't even know, Elia. Truly." She looked away from her then, her eyes losing themselves as they looked into the flames.

"I just feel like I'm waiting to feel...a release. I thought that when the day came, when this world was finally rid of him, that it would feel so sweet. And yet all I can feel is a knot in my stomach."

Elia leaned forward in her chair and gently clasped Rhaella's hand in hers. "He can do you no harm now," Elia assured her. "Or anyone else."

The silver queen closed her eyes, letting out a shuddered breath. "I know, you are right." Then she opened her eyes once more, weary. "Now we must prepare ourselves for Baratheon, Arryn and the other Stark I should think."

"And Rhaegar," Elia added.

"Yes...yes," Rhaella pondered. "Tywin will no doubt make a move now."

The fire crackled in the hearth.

"If it's not one man, it's another, isn't it?" Elia remarked dryly.

Rhaella raised her goblet of wine to Elia and the glasses clinked with a nearly silent cheer.

* * *

_**Well, there's the update! Let me know what you think. I'm not trying to write a big political fic here, just something entertaining for these pandemic times. Honestly, I nearly wrote this from the POV of the wildfire - but that I thought that might be a bit much.**_


	3. Is it ever truly calm before a storm?

Aerys was dead.

_Finally. He's truly gone_, Elia thought to herself as she walked through the Red Keep.

_It should feel better, lighter - and yet…_

Rhaella was right. It just felt like they were waiting for chaos to truly begin its reign.

Elia had thought long and hard about how to move forward. As she walked through the hallways of the Red Keep to where Brandon Stark's room lay, she knew the northern lord would be crucial.

_Will Aerys's death be enough for the North? Or is war inevitable?_ Each step she took along the marble steps felt heavier and heavier but she continued.

_The children will not be safe if we cannot find a safe path forward._

With her children on her mind, she squared her shoulders as she arrived at Brandon's door, took a deep breath and knocked. Hearing his voice, she entered and her eyes went to the bed where she assumed she would find him. But movement quickly drew her gaze to the window where he stood, turning to face her as she entered.

"Princess," he said with a small bow of his head, his voice still slightly strained from the strangle device.

"Lord Stark," she greeted him as the guard pulled the door close behind her. "I came to see how you fare and…" She straightened her spine. "Give you some news."

He regarded her for a moment before speaking. His eyes held both glee and anger in them at once, a look that reminded her of Oberyn somehow. "I heard about the King."

"You heard?" she blurted. "How?" It had only happened last night, and she hadn't even broken her fast yet. And they'd only sent the ravens out to great houses that morning.

He looked away for a moment but she could have sworn she saw a smirk on his face. "News like that flies quickly, even if you're stuck in one room."

She tilted her head to the side, studying him, before speaking again. "Well, now that you know, we can discuss what comes next," she said, clearing her throat and gesturing for him to take a seat. He acknowledged her with a nod and took a seat on the edge of the bed.

Taking a seat in a chair by his bed, Elia smoothed the soft emerald silk of her gown and was about to ask who gave him the news before Brandon spoke.

"So is it true?" he asked a bit hoarsely before she could even begin. "Did he truly drink wildfire?"

She nodded before speaking, her eyes dulling as her mind went back to the sight from just the night before. "Yes...mixed with his own blood."

"What?" he yelled and then quickly winced in pain, grabbing his throat.

Elia nearly moved to him to make sure he was well but kept herself seated. "He seemed to think that would...make it safe for him, I suppose." It, of course, did not.

"What mad man told him that would work?" he asked incredulously. Indeed, who had truly given the pyromancers such foolish information?

"An answer we'll come to eventually," she replied evenly and then she leaned forward a bit. "How are you? Has the pain lessened any?"

His hand ghosted over his throat where the bandage was. "It's a bit better. Wine helps," he laughed, wincing again slightly.

"May I see it? The wound?" she asked hesitantly. _It cannot get infected, I did not save him only for him to die from an infection._

Brandon was slightly taken aback, but nodded slowly. _Well, she did save me_, Brandon thought to himself.

She rose and walked to him and slowly unwrapped the linen around his throat. Brandon watched her with curiosity as she peered at his neck, gently moving him by the shoulders to inspect it.

"You look tired," he commented matter of factly, causing her to pause her inspection for a moment.

"Well," she began with an amused shake of her head. "Thank you for that blunt assessment, Lord Stark," she said dryly. "I did watch a King burn himself from the inside out and die last night."

He growled lowly. "I would have given anything to have seen that. Though I would have rather killed him myself."

_Men and their blood thirst_, Elia thought wearily. "With that image in your brain - and when the fate of your children hangs in the balance - it all makes it rather hard to achieve a night of restful sleep."

"Your children?" he asked, confused at the addition. "What's wrong with them?"

Her hands faltered then and she seemed stunned at his words. "Do you think me stupid and blind, Lord Stark?"

His mouth gaped open and if he hadn't been wounded, he would have leapt up and yelled at her. "No!" he croaked. He tried not to clench his jaw so his neck would not tense or strain. Calming himself, he let out a frustrated sigh. "I just do not understand what they have to do with this...your grace."

"They have everything to do with...this," she exhaled in mild exasperation before returning to look at his neck. "I know of the North's alliance with the other houses, I would be a fool not to," she said studiously, as she craned her head to look at the back of his neck. "An alliance that - combined with what my oh-so-kind good-father, the King, did to your father - could very much put my children's future at risk."

"Your children," he mumbled quietly, looking away from her. "Rhaegar's children."

"_My_ children, Lord Stark," she stated quietly but the kind of ferocity his father used to use to force him to see reason. It snapped his eyes to hers and gods, did she hold his gaze like a warrior.

"Rhaegar barely spent anytime with Aegon before he rode off. He left us, knowing the King hated me - how dangerous he was; knowing that other lords are already working against the crown." She lowered her eyes to his neck then, resuming her inspection. "They may be Targaryens but they stopped being his children when he rode off with your sister," she finished quietly. "A parent does not abandon their child."

_A parent does not abandon their child_, he repeated in his head. _Like father. He did not abandon me._

He tore himself from that painful thought, the violent memory that made him want to burn away too, and looked up at the Dornish princess. It was much easier to think of all Targaryens as being Aerys's and Rhaegar's spawn. _Gods, it's easier not to think of them at all, let alone as the children of Elia Martell_. He liked this woman. _She saved me. I am alive because of her._

In truth, he thought he knew what his father's plans with the other lords were, but he wondered if he knew the true extent. But as he began to think - to _truly_ think like his father told him he would need to do as Lord of Winterfell - he realized she was right. _With father dead and Lyanna gone...Robert...the North…_

He let out a deep groan of exhaustion. _This isn't as simple as it seemed when I rode here. Rode here like a fool, _he cursed himself.

"Do you know if my brother received my raven at least?" Perhaps that might bring them back from the precipice of chaos.

She began to rewrap the linen carefully, seemingly satisfied with what she saw. "We have not received any word from him yet, so I can only hope that he did, Lord Stark," she said softly.

"Brandon."

Her hands dropped away from his neck as she looked at him with slightly owlish eyes.

"Please call me, Brandon," he added, fidgeting slightly. _Gods, why am I getting uncomfortable? It's just my name. And Father is Lord Stark. Was…_

Then he closed his eyes for a moment. _I am Lord Stark now though - and I now have to decide how to get justice for father, for the North. Gods, if Ned did not get my raven but he knows of father...have the banners been called already?_

Elia regarded him for a moment, standing by him as he sat on the bed. As he looked up at her, a question began to spin in his mind and he did not know what to make of it - was it possible for them to be on the same side?

"Well, Brandon, your throat looks better than it did before," she told him, gently clasping her hands in front of her.

_Ever proper_, he thought. It did not escape him that she did not say he could call her by her name. He was about to dare to ask when a knock came at the door.

Elia called for them to enter, and a guard walked in, giving her a quick bow. "Beg your pardon, your grace, your daughter is here with her septa."

A small smile crossed Elia's lips even as an exasperated but amused sigh escaped. "Of course, show them in," she replied kindly, taking a seat once more.

The door had barely opened more before a blur of purple cloth and brown hair ran towards her, chanting 'mama' over and over.

Dressed in a light purple dress, Princess Rhaenys clambered into her mother's lap and wrapped her arms around her neck, burying her face into her hair. "Mama," the toddler greeted, her small voice muffled in dark hair.

"I'm sorry, your grace," her septa came in, huffing. "She refused to eat without you."

Elia waved her away kindly with a smile. "It's fine, I'd like to eat with her as well." Letting out a sigh of exhaustion, the septa curtsied before leaving.

Brandon watched as Elia closed her eyes and hugged her daughter, laughing lightly. She looked more free in that moment than in any of the moments they had spent together.

"Good morrow, little sun." Then she pulled back a bit from their embrace to look down at her daughter and placed both hands on her cheeks so their eyes met. "Are you well?"

"Wanted you," Rhaenys pouted. Then she looked at her with expectant eyes."Food?"

"Of course, my love. Lord Stark and I were just finishing talking to each other," she told her daughter, nodding towards Brandon.

Rhaenys then turned herself around on her mother's lap to look at the stranger. Dark indigo eyes appraised him cautiously.

"Stuck?" she said, testing the word.

Brandon let out a small bark of laughter. "Almost, Princess. Stark," he corrected her.

Her face scrunched as she examined him from her perch. Then in a flash, she had scrambled down and crossed to the bed, climbing up next to the northern lord.

She looked at him as though she were trying to make sense of him before picking up a swathe of his hair. "So dark," Rhaenys said, pressing his dark brown hair next to her slightly lighter shade as she stood up on the bed where he was seated.

The northerner looked at the precocious child, bemused. "Did you not know, Princess? I'm a wolf." Rhaenys's eyes went wider than Elia had ever seen then. "And when I howl at night, the sky makes my hair dark," he said with a grin which the little girl returned with one of her own in excitement. Then her smile fell as she looked at his neck.

"Hurt?" she asked with concerned eyes.

"Aye, just a bit," he replied gently.

Rhaenys placed a kiss on her palm and then touched his neck carefully. "Better?" she asked hopefully.

He let out a small but incredulous laugh. "Much better, thank you for your help," he told her with warm smile.

"Lord Stark," Elia interjected, trying to hide a smile. "Let me formally introduce you to my daughter, Princess Rhaenys."

The small girl straightened at that, looking at Brandon with her chin raised.

"Princess," Brandon said dramatically. Then he took her hand in his and placed a small kiss on her knuckles. Rhaenys erupted in giggles before snatching her hand away and climbing off the bed. Her laughter continued as she ran to her mother and buried her face in her lap. She turned her head a bit to peek at him, and when he inclined his head to peer at her, she buried herself back into her mother.

"I would like to talk more, Lo- Brandon," she began, both of them smiling a bit at the correction. "But I believe I need to see to this one's morning meal."

He stood up then, clasping his hands behind his back. "Of course, I appreciate you checking on me, Princess." He paused for a moment. "But yes, there is much to be...sorted out."

She appraised him for a moment before turning her attention to her daughter once more. "Come, my love. What shall we eat this morning?"

"Eggs for Egg!" Rhaenys squealed with a large smile. Elia gave her a kiss on the cheek before standing with the excited toddler in her arms.

Brandon walked them out but as they got to the door, Elia paused with her hand above the knob and then turned to face him.

"Who told you about -" she glanced at Rhaenys briefly before continuing, "about what happened last night?"

He let out a small laugh and then bent his head down to the space in between Elia and Rhaenys's heads, whispering into the younger princess's ear. "A secret for you, little Princess - maids say quite a lot when they think you are asleep," he told her quietly, earning an excited giggle from Rhaenys, as he pulled his head back and met Elia's eyes.

He held the Dornish princess's gaze for a few moments - the two adults studying the other - before she broke the moment, clearing her throat and taking a small step back. Then she summoned a small smile and rolled her eyes at him. "Don't give her ideas, please," she chastised good-naturedly, and the wild wolf replied with a cheeky grin.

Before the two royals could leave, Rhaenys interjected. "Stuck!" she exclaimed! "Come?"

Elia unsuccessfully stifled a snort of laughter as she looked from her daughter to Brandon. "Well, what do you say, Brandon? Would you like to join us as we break our fast?"

It had been difficult for him to eat much after because of his wound, but he was finally starting to improve and not feel as weak. And more than that, he found himself wanting to spend more time with Princess Elia.

"I would be honored," he replied and then turned with a wolfish grin to Rhaenys, "Princess." The gesture and smile garnered another squeal from the young girl who hugged her mother to hide her face again.

"Off we go, then," Elia said, gesturing for him to exit the room with them. "Perhaps with nourishment of our stomachs and souls, an answer will be easier to find."

As he followed Elia through the door, Brandon's mind swirled with questions, of decisions that would need to be made, of possible allies with brave hearts - and what lay ahead for them all now.

* * *

AN:

First, thanks to all the new favorites and follows! Really appreciate it

This was a bit of filler and way more serious than I was intending or hoping to do, but hopefully lighter and funnier bits to come next (I hope). Also Rhaenys is around two years old here.

One more note - one reviewer was apparently upset because Brandon cried in the first chapter - _even though he had just watched his father be killed._ So lemme say this: I feel like we always see the same portrayals of Brandon when we don't actually know too much about him beyond the fact he was wild, handsome and rash (and definitely slept with Barbrey Ryswell/Dustin). So I'm trying to look at this from the question of - what would Brandon be like if he had watched his father die and now had to question if his actions led to that, not just Lyanna's? So before people get into a tizzy about Brandon not being 'soft' or emotional in canon, that's what's up here.

Also I don't like doing solo POVS, I prefer to bounce between people's thoughts - sorry if it's confusing! ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	4. A Game Unknown - Eddard

Eddard stared at the skies above.

The stars formed shapes that the Maester at the Vale had taught him of, but he did not remember their names - just their forms, ones that never wavered - as long as he knew when to look up. With his eyes turned high, he could be at Winterfell; he could be at the Vale. The sky was always the same, and he could pretend that he understood where home truly was.

He'll never understand why his father sent him to foster in the Vale, but he felt grateful for it in so many ways. And even with some visits home, for so many years the Eyrie was all he knew. Jon Arryn became a father and Robert a brother.

It did not replace Rickard Stark or Brandon, or Benjen and Lyanna. But still. _Where was home? _

Questions and ruminating on home were easier to mull than the torrent of news that had swept over him in the past two months.

_Lyanna kidnapped. _

_Father dead and no word of Brandon. _

_Then Brandon was alive! And the King was dead. _

_Madness. _

They had camped not far off from the Kingsroad - he, Robert, Lord Arryn with some of their guards and men. They were making good time already since they left Riverrun. The last comfortable bed they'd had was at the Inn at the crossroads. Hoster Tully had accompanied them from his keep to the inn and stayed with them for the night before planning to return home in the morn. And that was where another tide threw itself upon him, leaving him floundering yet again, struggling to breathe, to understand, this new world he found himself in.

Robert was inside, a serving wench on his lap, as he caroused with some of the other men. Ned had gone outside to relieve himself and just rest his mind from the headache of it all. As he walked back from the woods, he heard voices and stopped in his tracks, hiding his presence.

"I am glad Elbert lives, Jon. But we must think of what comes next - you and I both know Aerys being dead changes everything," he'd heard Lord Tully say in the shadows by the horses.

"Of course it does, Hoster, I'm not a fool," Jon whispered with a hiss. "The Prince is not a suitable option, of course. But it won't be as straightforward with Aerys gone so quickly."

Hoster raised his head with a confident look in his eyes. "We still make the turn we had already spoken of - with Robert."

"How can we? And I haven't told him yet," Jon murmured. "I'm not sure how he will respond."

"What could the boy be opposed to?" the Lord of Riverrun asked incredulously. "He would be King!"

Eddard had stumbled backwards, feeling like he had lost his footing.

_Robert as King? _

That couldn't have been what his father wanted, could it? That would have made Lyanna a queen. Surely their father could not have meant for that? She was as much meant for that as he was a King's Hand. And was there not a young babe, the son of Elia Martell and Rhaegar? What of him?

"Where is Tywin?" Jon asked quietly.

"Still sequestered at the Rock. He's yet to make a move," Hoster grumbled. "His loyalties are yet to be known. As always. And he'll want compensation - and I speak not of money, we both know that."

He watched Jon closed his eyes with a sigh. "Hoster, the boy is mad about the Stark girl. He won't take the lioness - nor either of your girls."

Tully fixed him with a stern glare. "We'll have to wait and see. In any case - don't think Tywin will pass up the chance to finally get his blood on the throne - even if it takes a Baratheon by Targaryen a few generations removed."

Ned listened to them speak in their whispers and strategies to sculpt the future. He rubbed his face with his hands, trying to rid himself of the deluge of a conspiracy he could not wrap his head around. He also felt like a fool, forgetting that Robert's grandmother was a Targaryen. He supposed everyone else did too - until it was convenient to remember. He made his way back to the Inn, his mind spinning with questions of plans and plots - and his family split across the whole of Westeros.

As he stared at the skies now at their camp, all of it made him think of a game he had been introduced to at Harrenhal. They had not passed it long ago. Though he would not let his thoughts dwell on all the troubles that had begun there.

The Dornish contingent had brought a game with them - and listening to Jon and Hoster speak had made him feel like he was playing it - cyvasse, she had said it was called.

Ashara had laughed at him - soft and light as the moon - when he was forced to play.

"Oh, Eddard," she had said with a small chuckle. "I'm not sure how well you would take to what you call the South."

He'd gazed at her, trying to remember not to stare too hard - though failing. "Oh? Why is that?"

She tilted her head to the side, studying him - but there was warmth there. "Because one must learn to think as though they are playing this game if they are to survive here."

"I think you are right, my lady."

"It is best to study this game before playing, but there was no time, I suppose," she said, looking at the board before looking back at him.

His eyes looked at the pieces before him, only seeing figures from Old Nan's tales. "Still," he told her. "I'm not sure I'm made for such play - unless I had help." A large smile crossed her face before looking to the board as she made her next move.

After Brandon pushed him to dance with her, she had shown him this game. He had never made any sense of it. But still - everything had seemed so simple then - before a crown of blue flowers threw everything into chaos.

He used to like winter roses - now it only felt as though they symbolized darkness and uncertainty.

"Ned!" Robert's booming and muddled voice called out to him, breaking him out of the maze of his thoughts. The Baratheon lord stumbled over to him as the fire danced around the campsite. "What are you staring at? The sky won't talk back to you."

Ned sighed. The smell of wine and sweat assaulted him, and he could only gaze at his friend, his brother by bond though not blood, with pity and frustration. This was how he was after he returned to the Eyrie following the death of his parents. _ I suppose we all respond to grief in our own way. _

"I was just having a think, that's all, Robert," he told him with a weak smile.

"You think too much, Ned!" Robert bellowed with a laugh.

Eddard now wondered if he didn't think enough.

His eyes turned to his friend then, who had grown quiet, staring at the ground. Ned played a hand on his shoulder softly. "Are you well, Robert?"

His friend shook his head, as though he were waking up or lost in some mists. He blinked at Ned for a few moments. "Where do you think Lyanna is, Ned? Why did Brandon not say more of her in his letter?"

Brandon's letter. It had been a gift. The relief and pure, unadulterated joy Ned felt to know his brother was alive - he had no words.

After hearing their conversation and as they rode along the Kingsroad, Eddard found himself wondering if Jon and Hoster Tully were truly happy that Brandon was still alive - but he banished the question away. The Riverlands lord had called his brother a 'gallant fool' and wanted Ned to marry his daughter as soon as news came of their father. But he had refused, saying they did not yet know Brandon's fate and he could not yet take his brother's place.

Catelyn, Winterfell - that was for Brandon, not him.

"I don't know why Brandon did not say more of Lyanna, Robert," Eddard answered gently. "But it must be enough for now to know that she is safe and alive - just as he wrote." It was all his brother had written of their sister - though how he knew, he said not.

"Yes, yes," he said, nodding his head quickly. "You're right. Brandon is alive, Aerys is dead. And we'll find Lyanna soon." The softness in his eyes disappeared, replaced by an intense blue storm. "Then Rhaegar is mine."

As they walked back to their tents, Eddard had the distinct feeling that nothing would be as simple as Robert's words - and that they were all pieces being moved by forces beyond they truly did not understand.

He looked up at the sky before retreating to his tent for the night - the shapes were still there, still the same. At least he could hold onto that.

* * *

_**Sorry that was so short. I hadn't planned on an Eddard chapter and then it just came out today. Also I think cyvasse was actually not in Westeros this early but..I'm rolling with that for the time being. Aiming to start updating this fic once a week depending on RL so hope you'll forgive me for this short chapter (and any typos/mistakes)! **_


	5. The Longest Day, Part 1 - Elia

Within a few moments of waking up, Elia could feel the edges of the day fraying already. In fact, she had the distinct feeling today she would feel like one of those jugglers at a tourney - the ones who toss oranges and apples in the air quickly, trying not to drop them.

_Gods, how quickly will this day fall from my hands? _

Today they would inter the ashes of Aerys in the Great Sept of Baelor. After helping her dress in a black gown, her maid did her hair in an elegant single braid, a few strands framing her bronze face delicately, and Elia clasped small ruby earrings on. As she exited her chambers to begin the day, she greeted her Kingsguard on duty.

"Good morning, Ser Jaime," she told the young lion.

"A good '_mourning_,' indeed, my Queen," he said with a small smile.

Even if the day would be unruly, a jape like that was needed. "You are quite daring, good ser," she told him with a raised eyebrow.

"You don't mind though, do you?" he asked cautiously but she could tell he already knew the answer.

Elia shook her head at him but her eyes were warm and bright. "I think you already know the answer to that."

Ser Arthur and Ser Oswell had disappeared with Rhaegar on his 'sojourn' with Lyanna Stark. And while they would rotate now and then, Ser Jaime usually stayed with Elia, Lord Commander Hightower and Ser Llewyn with Aegon and Rhaenys, and Ser Barristan and Jonothor with Rhaella and Viserys now that they were all in the capital together.

As Elia and Jaime walked through the Red Keep, she could tell the young knight wanted to ask her something. He kept opening his mouth to speak and then closing it. And so she paused their passage.

"What is it?" she asked quietly, placing a hand on his metal-covered arm.

He was always so sarcastic or irreverent with her. The friendship between their mothers had passed down to the two of them as well, and she was glad for it. But she was not used to seeing him so quiet, almost...vulnerable.

"Is it wrong that I feel so relieved he is gone? That I feel no...remorse?" he asked in a whisper.

Her face shifted into understanding then. "Oh, Jaime," Elia breathed quietly. "No, it is not wrong. I suspect everyone in this city feels the same."

The young knight looked at her for a moment, as though to make sure she was not jesting with him. Seeing she was true, his expression eased.

"Shall we?" he asked, extending one arm to her.

She took his offering with both a smile and a tired groan. "If we must."

And so the day began at the Great Sept where they interred the late King's ashes. Given the state his body had been in following the...incident, waiting to burn his body until Rhaegar's return had simply not been an option. The children had not attended the pyre burning in the dragon pit, but both Elia and Rhaella had decided that while Aegon would remain in the nursery guarded by his great-uncle and Ser Barristan, Rhaenys and Viserys would attend this final ceremony. Once it was finished, the family ascended from the tombs into the main area of the sept with the High Septon.

The sun was particularly bright that day, its rays piercing through the colored glass and hitting the crystal crown of the High Septon. It managed to create a series of small dancing rainbows on the marbled floor as he walked with the royal family and as soon as Rhaenys noticed, she squirmed down from her grandmother's arms to chase what looked like magic to the toddler. It was only a few moments before Viserys joined her, the two laughing as the High Septon seemed to move to encourage the game.

"You are kind to indulge them," Elia told him warmly.

"Well, it is nice to see the glow of young life here," the thin man replied. "They were very attentive during the ceremony, it is the least I can do." The streams of colors continued, the children trying to catch them in their hands, as the trio of adults walked slowly through the sept. "Will your normal visits to the orphanages take place this week, Your Grace? It has greatly lifted the spirits of the children since you began them upon your return from Dragonstone," he asked Elia.

She did not know the High Septon well, a thin man with a brown beard that was sprinkled with greys. But since she had come back to the capital, she had made a point of visiting the Sept often and establishing a constant schedule with the orphanages. That had at least formed a bit of a bond she hoped would provide a solid foundation for a new reign. _Though...the Highest ones are often the least holy, _she thought. But this one seemed to be true.

At least, near as 'true' ever is.

"Yes, I shall be visiting. Now more than ever, it seems important to give some...consistency," Elia replied. "I believe you were going to attend as well, is it not so, good-mother?"

"That's correct. It has been...difficult as of late to be able to find time to leave the Keep, but not anymore." The High Septon was no fool. It was clear what the change was.

"And…" He paused their walking then as his tone turned serious. "When might we expect...the new King?"

_When will he return after kidnapping or running off with a young girl, you mean to ask_, Elia thought. _Perhaps we should pray on it. _

"Within days, I am sure," Rhaella replied confidently and with a smile. Elia plastered one on her face as well, though she knew they both truly did not have any honest answer to give the man. _We both are good mummers. _

"Splendid," he answered, though was not entirely sure he was convinced. "Please let me know when we might expect to conduct the coronation."

Affirming he would know as soon as possible, they bid him goodbye before Rhaella beckoned to the youths to leave, and Rhaenys ran into her grandmother's arms excitedly. "Did you like the rainbows, my sun dragon?" she asked the toddler as she picked her up, tucking a curl of hair behind her ear. Rhaenys nodded excitedly as she hugged her.

Elia extended her hand to Viserys with a smile, the young boy taking it quickly.

"We match, Aunt Elia," he said studiously but with a small smile. "You and me, mother and Rhae."

Her heart swelled at his sweet observation. Rhaella had been sparse in what she told her youngest child - simply saying the King had gone away to a better place. To their relief, he seemed to take the development well, though clinging to his mother and aunt more.

"Are you sure you don't mind carrying her?" Elia asked her good-mother as they began to walk outside.

Rhaella smiled, running a hand through Rhaenys's hair. "On the contrary," she replied, exhaling with content. "It gives me much pleasure, Elia. _She _does." Seeing some lightness and energy return to the dowager Queen, a return long overdue, was another balm to her. When Aerys was alive, Rhaella was nearly restricted from spending time with Rhaenys. But now she could indulge to her heart's content.

Beyond that, both of Elia's parents had passed, and somehow seeing Rhaenys bond with a grandparent worthy of the love gave her strength.

Three of the Kingsgaurd and a large host of gold cloaks accompanied them as they made their way down the steps, the black dresses of both women trailing behind them, and a large crowd having assembled and cheering for the royal family.

"I am to meet with Brandon Stark today, he is nearly healed," Elia said to Rhaella, leaning over so she could be heard over the noise of the crowd but waving with her free hand all the while. "I am going to return…" she took a moment before she continued. "I am going to give him his father's remains."

"Oh, Elia," Rhaella lamented. "Would you like me to be there?"

"I think I shall be fine alone. I am more concerned about the other pending arrivals," she said as quietly as she could while still being heard.

As they got to the carriage, Rhaella paused before entering. "Well, one part of the past has been laid to rest. Let us see what we can do about the future."

* * *

"I should not have come here."

Elia looked at Brandon Stark with trepidation, wondering if she had somehow misstepped.

"If I had not come to this pit of a city," he continued, his voice low, "perhaps my father might still be alive."

Absorbing the utter pain that was apparent on his face, no matter how much he tried to conceal it, her thoughts began to run.

"My brother would have done the same," she told him quietly, in an attempt at consolation. "Or he would have tried at least, I have no doubt. Love for family often consumes any rational bone we possess."

Brandon looked at her, his eyes grateful and large with emotion, though his face remained tight. Then he turned his gaze back to the chest that contained his father's remains. He was glad in grey and black, normal for his house, but it seemed to fit the occasion as well.

"So many people stood by and did nothing. How do we give one man so much power?" the young lord seethed, his face a storm of fury and pure loss.

_How, indeed. _"Come, why don't we go to my solar, it's just next door," Elia beckoned softly. His eyes remained on the chest for a few moments before he nodded slightly, acquiescing.

When they entered the room, Elia brought him to a small table where a pitcher of wine sat. As he took a seat, he closed his eyes wearily while she poured him a glass.

"Here, I think you need that," she told him, pushing the goblet to him before pouring one for herself and taking a seat.

He paused before taking a long, deep sip. As he brought the goblet down, he wiped his lips and dark beard with the back of his hand. Then his eyebrows raised in acknowledgment. "It's good," he stated somberly.

"Dornish."

That earned her a small laugh which brought the slightest bit of lightness to his face.

"Your brother will be here soon," Elia informed him after a few moments of silence. "I believe he is accompanied by Lord Baratheon and Lord Arryn." She took a slow sip as she observed him.

Brandon let out a small groan. "He did not need to come, it would have been better for him to go to Winterfell. Ben is all alone, barely more than a bairn, he is." His last words came out laced with a hint of worry.

Elia observed him for a moment before looking out the window. She wondered how close or far their newest guests were to arriving. "It seems they had already started making their way south after receiving the summons from Aerys for your...'trial.' But I do believe he received your raven - at Riverrun, in fact. I imagine your brother wants to set eyes on you. And Lord Baratheon..."

"Robert, gods," he said with a deep exhale. "I wrote to Ned that Lyanna was...safe. Neither need come here, nor Lord Arryn. Elbert is perfectly well. Though I suppose Lord Arryn may be the only one who can control Robert," he muttered. Then he looked to Elia, watching her for a moment. "There's still been no word from them, is there?"

"No, we tasked...someone...with locating them and relaying the events here," she replied evenly, pushing some stray dark brown strands of hair away from her face.

"Once we have Lyanna back, we will leave," he declared quietly but with a sharp edge all the same. Elia wondered if he even questioned if his sister would want to leave, but she did not voice that thought. "Elbert and the others will be glad to leave, as well," he continued.

She nodded in acknowledgment, taking another sip of wine. Somehow there was an odd space of familiarity with him and she didn't know why. It was puzzling, unnerving and hopeful all at once

"So, Brandon," she asked, calling him by his name as he had requested before. "What comes next?"

"As I said, your husband returns my sister to me, for one."

"And then?"

"And then…" He sighed, looking up to the ceiling. "How do I get justice? It feels impossible with that mangy devil of a King dead now." He tilted his head back down and looked over to her. "What options am I left with?"

Elia looked to him and as she absorbed the expression directed at her, intense and purposeful eyes, she realized something - he was genuinely asking her, not just pondering into the air. All of a sudden she felt like she was in a small boat by herself in the middle of the ocean, unsure where to go. The truth was, she did not know. Nothing felt satisfactory or like it could be enough. _Aerys is dead - what was recompense or justice now? It would almost be easier if he were alive. _

"Well, as you said, to start with, Rhaegar and Lyanna return." She chose her phrasing carefully. _Would the girl want to return? Another thought for another time. _"And then you negotiate with him. Even if Aerys is dead, the North is owed for what happened to your father. That much is clear to all." She did not feel like she was being treasonous in offering him that counsel as it truly did seem obvious.

"Aye," he growled. "Your husband will pay, make no mistake." Elia could tell that as soon as he said it, even he was slightly taken aback. _Has the wolf tamed himself a bit, _she wondered? She also wondered if he meant for all Targaryens to pay, including her own children. _We've become a sort of friends, he and I. I hope he thinks so too. _

The northern lord regarded her for a few moments, almost as if he were studying her - or reading her thoughts. Then his posture seemed to relax as though he had settled on a course of action. "I don't know if I'll remain very calm in his presence. Perhaps you should be there to ensure it all goes smoothly," he stated, almost like a dare - or was it an assurance?

The uncrowned Queen laughed then, her own shoulders easing. It was a rare sensation, truth be told. "Oh? What would I add to that meeting?" She would be at that meeting, of course, but she was curious for his answer nonetheless.

Brandon looked at her, his eyes penetrating. "Perhaps I'll need a reminder of my debt owed," he stated with sincerity. That statement brought an immense relief to Elia, more than he probably could imagine.

Then the wild wolf's expression turned to one of curiosity. "And I suspect you have some ideas and suggestions, Your Grace. In fact, I suspect you're quite full of ideas, more than you let on."

Elia scoffed lightly at his remark and the mild cheek of it, one hand smoothing the skirt of her dress in her lap. It was her own way of exercising her nerves. "Is this what you do, Brandon? Try and charm women into agreeing with you?" she asked dryly.

"Try?" he asked in mock offense, his cool grey eyes appraising her. "Well, no one could ever accuse you of succumbing, could they, Elia?"

"I don't know, I suppose you'll have to see, won't you?" She replied, turning her eyes to her glass as she took another sip, though she could feel his gaze on her. She enjoyed their banter, though Elia didn't know if it was the wine or him addressing her so informally that made her answer as she did just then. _No, definitely the wine. I've just had near a full glass of wine without eating today. Gods. _

She placed the goblet on the table and took a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment. The breeze from the window washed over her along with moving rays of the sun.

"Black does not suit you," he said suddenly, breaking her thoughts, as he looked over her.

"Pardon?" she blurted, her shoulders tightening slightly._ I mourn in black for someone whose death only brings me joy. _"Why is that?" she asked.

"Darkness does not become you, Your Grace," he amended, his voice lower before he took a long sip of his wine. When he finished, he looked back to her. "It seems too harsh for you, I mean." The way he held her gaze suddenly made her feel like she was being taken apart - but in a good way.

And then it dawned on her.

"You're deflecting," Elia told him, her dark amber eyes meeting his grey ones firmly.

Now it was his turn to be caught off guard. "I'm what?"

"You're deflecting," she repeated steadily. "To avoid...how you feel."

Brandon looked away from her, staring at the goblet of wine and letting one finger trace the circular top around and around. "Is that so bad?" he asked with a rueful smile before he stood to fill his goblet once more.

If it wouldn't have been highly improper, she would have embraced him, comforted him. But instead she only spoke. "No," she answered gently, looking up at him, her eyes soft. "It is never bad to seek a reprieve from grief, Brandon."

And then the raven-haired man stared at her again, though this time his gaze was a storm of vulnerability, longing - and something more burning that she could not quite place.

Or that it was best not to.

By some miracle, they were interrupted with a knock at the door, and Elia could not have been more grateful.

She stood up swiftly. "Enter!" she called, her voice cracking as though she were a greenboy on the verge of manhood.

Ser Jaime entered and if he caught onto the odd feeling in the air, he did not let on. "Lords Stark, Baratheon and Arryn have arrived, my Queen."

"Ah, yes, thank you, Ser Jaime," she said in a rush. The Lannister knight eyed her curiously before exiting the room.

"We should go, should we not?" Elia said, turning to Brandon with a pleasant smile. And then a thought struck her before he could respond. "Would you prefer to greet your brother alone?" she asked him quietly. "You could meet here if you like as it is not far from...the other room."

Brandon stared at her for a moment before he spoke "If that were possible, I would be much obliged," he confirmed. "Once again, I suppose," he added at the end. The air had shifted between them somehow, and their eyes stayed on the other for a moment.

"Right. I shall leave you here, then," she told him as she regained her composure. But as she moved to leave, Brandon grabbed her hand suddenly, and Elia let out a slight gasp as her eyes flew down to his hand over hers.

"I never - " he stopped himself, pausing before he continued. "I never said thank you."

"It was just wine," Elia breathed, trying - and failing - to ignore the feel of his hand holding hers. She had kept her eyes fixed on their joined hands before letting them rise to meet his grey orbs. And then she felt her breath hitch slightly as she took in the raw intensity of his gaze.

"I never said thank you for saving me."

When she walked out of the room, Elia felt like the fruit had begun to fall from her hands.

* * *

She arrived at the chambers just as Rhaella did. They did not even exchange words but only a knowing glance and a nod before they entered together.

Inside the chambers were Jon Arryn and Robert Baratheon, the first seated and the second pacing - stomping, really - impatiently. As soon as they entered, Lord Arryn rose, bowing to both of them.

"My Queen - Queens," he amended awkwardly. Robert Baratheon stopped his pacing, fixing both women with a furious gaze. He did not even bother to bow at first and then Lord Arryn coughed. That led to a brusque false bow.

Elia looked to Rhaella, and so her good-mother spoke first. "My lords, it is warming to see you both in good health."

"Good health?" Baratheon yelled. "Where is my betrothed? Where has your son taken her?" His eyes fixed on Elia then. "Where is your husband, woman?"

"Robert!" Lord Arryn chastised though to no discernible impact.

Elia suppressed a groan. Would today only be filled with tall, dark-haired men trying to jostle her emotions, though each with opposite effect?

Before either she or Rhaella could answer, there was a knock on the door, and Elia exhaled slowly, already glad for the interruption.

Ser Jonothor entered, bowing to Rhaella and Elia. "Your…" his eyes dashed to Lord Baratheon before going back to the two women. "Your visitor is here, my Queen."

Elia watched as Rhaella's shoulders eased, and a confident smile played upon her lips. "Ah, what good tidings finally. Please show her in, Ser Jonothor."

"We're not finished here! Who have you invited here? We have not even begun to discuss the mess your silver-fucked son created!" Robert roared to Rhaella before turning to pace once more.

Footsteps padded upon the floor along with the click of a cane, and a disapproving sigh was heard at the door. The guest.

"Silver is not always so bad, Robert," the new arrival said coldly.

Robert whipped around at the voice, and Elia watched with fascination as his fury vanished, only to be replaced by shock and...fear?

"Grandmother?" he stuttered.

* * *

**_So I think I said before I don't do solo POVS, buuut starting with the last chapter I'm giving the solo POV a try. I'm not sure how I like it - as I said before, I like to bounce between people's thoughts. But I wanted to give it a shot for a bit. Let me know what you think of that - in addition to the content of the chapter!_**


	6. The Longest Day, Part 2 - Rhaella

When she was a child, Rhaella Targaryen had been told she was named in honor of her parents' sister.

_ "Rhaelle - so resilient," her father Jaehaerys, then a prince not yet a King, had recounted when he first told her of her aunt. "She has done much for the family." Rhaella would never forget the intense look in her father's eyes when he spoke his next words. "But what we did - it was all necessary, of course. Remember that, sweetling." _

When each of her siblings broke betrothals left and right, Rhaelle did the opposite. Prince Duncan broke his betrothal for a girl with flowers in her hair, there was a brief rebellion, and there came Rhaelle to wed the son of a Laughing Storm. With precedent set, the other siblings followed suit - Rhaella's parents Jaehaerys and Shaera wedded and bedded each other before they could be stopped, breaking two betrothals at once. And Daeron..._ well_. That was likely for the best - Olenna Tyrell would have eaten him alive.

All in all, they all followed the whims of their hearts, not duty - though duty was the price of nobility, was it not?

And so it was that Rhaella was told that her naming was meant to acknowledge what her aunt had done to compensate for all of this, such sacrifice.

Even as a child, all Rhaella had thought when she was told that was - _ why had there been any need for sacrifice in the first place?_

_Also could my name not have been just a bit more creative than a one-letter difference?_

"Aunt," Rhaella moved quickly to welcome their new guest.

"Niece," the older woman greeted her regally as she began walking to her as well, her gown of violet and black swaying with her steps. "It is wonderful to see you. You look much better since the last time we were together. And for that, I am quite glad." The two exchanged a warm embrace as the others looked on.

When it was assured that Robert Baratheon would be coming to King's Landing with Eddard Stark and Jon Arryn, Rhaella had written to her aunt to let her know of his journey to the capital. The letter had also been to apologize for what Rhaegar had done and to assure her aunt that she'd had no knowledge of what her son planned - or if indeed any of it had been planned at all.

What Rhaella had not anticipated was that her aunt would write back saying she might fancy a trip back to King's Landing to greet Robert herself.

A part of the Queen Dowager wondered if she might be in for some kind of chastisement from her aunt due to Rhaegar's actions. _ But on the other hand, perhaps a little family reunion couldn't hurt. _

_ Could it? _

As Rhaella and her aunt withdrew from their embrace, Robert made his presence known once more. "What are you doing here?" he asked incredulously, his blue eyes wide and shocked.

His grandmother looked at him with a raised and questioning eyebrow. "Are you disappointed, my dear grandson?"

"No, but - but - there was no need for you to come, grandmother," he replied, more strained than he probably cared to admit.

"Can I not visit family when I want, Robert?" the older Targaryen, now Baratheon, dared imperiously. "I shall endeavor to not be hurt by your clear lack of desire for my presence."

He let out a weary groan before walking over to her and bending over so that he might embrace the woman who was much shorter than him - though all women were shorter than him, in truth. Despite his initial surprise and tension, it was clear from the young lord's expression as he embraced his grandmother that he was, indeed, glad to see her.

Or at least - _ somewhat _ glad.

"That's better," Rhaelle replied, giving Robert a pat on the back as their embrace concluded. When he pulled back, she looked at him fondly, placing a hand on his cheek. And then her hand slipped down to Robert's chin, gripping it so she could turn his face a few times. She inspected him with a slight groan. "Oh Robert, when did you last shave?" she lamented, peering at the shadow of a dark beard that threatened to grow without care.

He stepped back from her with an exasperated huff. "I've had a few things on my mind, grandmother," he replied tightly. It was clear that he was trying to restrain himself - something he did not seem very accustomed to.

She gave him a knowing look as she walked around him then with a careful ease before approaching Elia with a kind expression.

"My Queen," Lady Baratheon said with an elegant curtsy.

Elia was quick to stop her, gently clasping her at her shoulders. "Please, that's not necessary," she told her in a rush. It was odd - if that was even the right word - for Rhaella to watch these two women interact in this setting; these two women whom she loved, that held such seemingly different roles in her life. And yet - _ and yet _ \- it had started to feel as though there was an odd link, an odd familiarity of what these two women meant to her and to her family.

"I think I can manage for you, my dear," Rhaelle said to Elia with a voice softer than Rhaella had heard in some time. "I'm so sorry you have been put through this."

And then their oh-so-brief happy peace was interrupted.

"Why are you apologizing?" Robert yelled in absolute indignation. "You've done nothing wrong! It's her husband that has wronged our house!" Then he turned to Rhaella. "Her son!"

Even if his manner of expression was not proper whatsoever, Rhaella could not but concede that the stormlord was completely correct. House Targaryen had wronged House Baratheon - _ yet again_.

"I heard your opinion on this already, Robert. To be blunt, I could hear you from down the hall. And I cannot say I cared for your tone," his grandmother warned.

It seemed the young lord had the good sense in that moment to look a bit ashamed - though not much. But her words seemed to at least have the effect of finally making him take a seat.

"These women are family, Robert. Or did you forget?" the former Targaryen princess asked, her eyes shifting to Lord Arryn for a moment before moving back to her tall grandson. "The Queen Dowager was your father's cousin. And Queen Elia's great-grandmother was a Targaryen just as my great-grandmother was a Martell. We are _ blood_, Robert. Act like it," she commanded firmly. "Or have you somehow forgotten the worth of family?"

In the back of Rhaella's mind, a voice prodded at her, wondering if her aunt would have similar words for Rhaegar on the value of 'family.'

The Queen Dowager watched then as her aunt's eyes tracked like a hawk to the Vale lord again. "Tell me, Lord Arryn. What precisely have you been teaching my grandson? Because he still seems quite like the impetuous and impatient youth that was sent to you years ago."

Robert rose from his chair quickly. "How can you say that?" he yelled in his own defense.

Rhaelle looked from Lord Arryn then to her grandson, before looking back to the Vale lord with a knowing glance. It was clear she had won that tilt.

Lord Arryn cleared his throat. "Your grandson has learned a great deal while fostering with me, my lady. It's just a...trying time, as you can see."

"Yes. How fortunate for him that he does not have to bear any heavier burden right now or more responsibility," she said darkly.

It was then that Robert took his grandmother's hand in his own. "Lord Arryn has been good to me, grandmother. I have learned much, I swear to you." It was odd to see this large beast of a man become nearly tender in the presence of his grandmother. Rhaella also did not think the young man had truly learned much during his fostership, but she was quite sure he believed he had all the same.

His grandmother turned to look up at him, her violet eyes looking over his face and a hint of sadness notable in her gaze. It occurred to Rhaella then how much Robert looked like his father, Steffon. "Yes, well perhaps you have," his grandmother said, her voice just a bit softer now. "But lowering your voice every now and then would not be unwelcome, my dear."

A sneaking grin played at his lips then. "Speaking quietly is not our way, grandmother." The remark seemed to crack the serious expression upon Rhaelle Baratheon's face, and a full smile spread across Robert's face. "And I know you've missed my voice!" he remarked with a booming laugh before bending down to plant a kiss on her cheek that she falsely protested with a warm huff.

With the mood lightened a bit - miraculously - Rhaella took that moment to gain a reprieve. "You all must be tired from your respective journeys. Perhaps we could take a small break for lunch? Elia and I must see to the children first, but then we could meet once more in the afternoon."

Elia looked to Jon Arryn. "And we will have a guard escort you to your nephew, Lord Arryn. I am sure you must be anxious to see him."

Before he could even respond, Rhaelle turned to Robert. "Excellent. Now you and I can catch up, my dear," she informed him, tenderly smoothing some of his black hair. And then she turned to Lord Arryn. "And later, perhaps we can discuss my grandson's more permanent return to Storm's End, my lord?" Though it was phrased as a question, it was clear - the Lady was not asking.

* * *

"I forgot how much I like her."

Elia was looking at Rhaenys and Viserys when she spoke as the two young ones ate their lunch together (Viserys more so than Rhaenys who was more concerned with smashing her vegetables). They were eating their meal in the gardens, trying to give the children some fresh air. Aegon cooed in Elia's arms as though he were agreeing with her words, gazing at his mother with sparkling purple eyes.

"Aunt Rhaelle? Yes, she is…" Rhaella thought on it for a moment. "She is one to be admired." Her eyes moved to where Elia's had been, watching Viserys sit with Rhaenys and eventually trying to help his niece eat her food.

Then her thoughts drifted to her aunt's words, then to Aerys and finally...to Rhaegar. _ Could I have done more for him? How could I have a son who acts like this? _

"Good-mother?" Elia called softly, placing a gentle hand on her arm. "Is all well?"

Rhaella looked to her, a small but hesitant smile trying to appear though not fully succeeding. She looked down at Elia's hand on her arm and placed her other hand on top. "I was thinking of Aunt Rhaelle's admonishment to Robert earlier, about valuing family. And I...I find myself wondering if I could have done more as a mother, _ should _ have done more to make Rhaegar better."

A sad but compassionate expression crossed Elia's face. "You cannot think like that, it is not your fault."

"Isn't it though? Of course, princes grow up with the utmost privilege. But is it not my duty to make him realize the responsibility of that? Is it not my duty to make him humble in the face of such privilege?" Rhaella watched as Elia's eyes went to Aegon who was slowly swaying back to sleep in her arms. "Have I not done him a disservice - and the realm too - by letting him live without challenge, that he can do as he wants without consequence?"

And even while she questioned her own role in Rhaegar's actions, she could not help the small bitterness that crept into her mind. _ He risked the wrath of two houses and Aerys for some girl - but he could not be bothered to fight for his own mother. _

Perhaps it wasn't a fair feeling - but it was one she felt nonetheless.

"It is not your fault that you were limited in how much you could be around him, Rhaella," Elia told her firmly. "Please, I beg you - do not place blame on your shoulders."

Rhaella lips tightened and she looked to Viserys then, her eyes determined. "I vow he will not be like his brother or father. As long as I draw breath, I will make sure he is better than them."

Elia followed her gaze to the children, her eyes focusing on the young silver-blonde-haired child as well. "He is good, Rhaella. And you must know that he thinks the world of you."

She looked to her good-daughter then, thinking of the slightly tumultuous journey they found themselves on. Rhaella was glad that, at the very least, they were together on this path.

"How was your meeting with Brandon Stark?" she asked Elia, hoping to move away from the melancholy that even talking about Rhaegar seemed to summon

"It was …. " Elia's gaze was faraway then, though her hand continued to stroke Aegon's soft hair.

"Elia?" Rhaella prodded gently. It was now her turn to summon the other from the depths of their thoughts.

Her good-daughter shook her head as though waking herself. "It was fine. He...he is very kind, though a bit brash of course. But he was kind," she concluded quietly.

"Poor thing," Rhaella lamented. "I cannot imagine what it was like for him to witness his father's death."

"He is recovering the best he can," Elia confirmed. "But he will want recompense from Rhaegar, that I know," she told Rhaella quietly. "Aerys's death will not be enough, I do not think."

Rhaella let out a weary sigh. "No, I'm sure it will not. But what was he thinking coming here in such a state," she asked, shaking her head at the northerner's folly.

"He was thinking of his sister," Elia stated resolutely, and there was an emotion behind her words Rhaella could not quite place. "There are worse crimes than caring about one's family," Elia continued, her voice now both distant and warm at the same time. "Far worse."

That was something they both knew all too well.

The two women settled into a brief moment of comfortable silence, watching as Viserys joined Rhaenys in trying to mash their vegetables and draw animals with the resulting mush. Their content bubble was only broken by the sound of a clink of armor and a second later, a voice.

"Your eldest son has returned."

Rhaella and Elia both gasped sharply as they turned quickly to see Rhaelle Baratheon and Ser Gerold.

"I heard the maids tittering about it after I left Robert," she said with a wry smile. "And I thought perhaps I might accompany you when you welcome him home from his...time away." The last words came out in a slightly darker tone.

_Gods be good. This will not go well, _Rhaella thought to herself as she rose alongside Elia. "Of course, Aunt. Unless you might prefer to rest some before you see him?" she asked with a tentative smile and a hint of a plea.

"I am not tired, niece," the older woman replied. "On the contrary, I find that I have both energy - and questions for our new King."

* * *

"Mother, Elia," Rhaegar greeted them as soon as they entered the room. Rhaella looked her firstborn over, noticing that he looked no worse for the wear from wherever he had gone and returned from. _ Where has he been? _ He came to her first, embracing her tightly as Ser Arthur and Ser Oswell looked on behind him.

"It is for the best, mother," he whispered into her ear, and she knew he was speaking of Aerys's passing. "But I hope you have begun to find some peace now."

Rhaella could scarcely believe her ears. She pulled back from their embrace quickly and looked at him with indignation. "No, it has not yet been peaceful, my son. Far off, in fact."

She could see his jaw tighten and uncertainty enter his eyes at her words and tone. He moved to his wife next.

Rhaegar embraced Elia, bending his head to place a kiss on her cheek. "Elia, I've missed you," he breathed with a smile. Rhaella was not blind and immediately noticed how tense Elia's body was - as though she were fighting the urge to slap her husband.

And she could not fault her for that.

"Rhaegar," Elia said quietly but strained. The uncertainty deepened in his eyes.

_ I truly have raised a fool, _ Rhaella thought to herself. _ Did he think we would welcome him with open arms? _

Rhaegar's eyes then shifted to Rhaelle Baratheon, and it was clear that it took him a few moments to register who she was. It was also clear the exact moment he realized her identity by the slight widening of his eyes.

"Aunt," he greeted, audibly gulping. "It has been too long. I have not seen you since Elia and I were wed."

She peered at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Are you sure?" she asked, drawing out the last word like an ominous tune.

"I -" He gaped at her and then sunk into quick thought before replying. "Why, yes, I do not believe we have seen you since the wedding."

She let out an easy laugh then."Well, how charming you remember. And here I thought you had forgotten that particular event - or that you took vows at all," she remarked dryly.

The room went silent, though Rhaella could have sworn she heard Elia stifle a cough.

"I know you must think I have erred in my ways -" Rhaegar began before his words were cut.

"Do I now?" Lady Baratheon asked, both eyebrows raised at him. "That's what I '_must' _ think? That you have simply…'erred,' you say?"

Rhaegar visibly sputtered. "I merely want to apologize for any offense or slight taken. But I assure you my actions were done with noble intentions."

The older woman then slowly turned to Rhaella with an incredulous gaze, her eyes asking what in the seven hells he was trying to say. Then she turned back to look at Rhaegar letting out a deep breath that vaguely sounded like a low growl.

She entered into a calm pace in front of Rhaegar then, her cane tapping a slow, syncopated rhythm. "It's odd. Naught but two hours ago I was in this room reminding my grandson - " Rhaelle paused for a moment. "You do know him, my grandson - your cousin?" she asked innocently.

"Indeed, I am of course familiar with cousin Robert, I - "

Rhaelle held up a hand. "Good," she said with a tight smile. "I shall continue then. I was simply not sure what you choose to remember or when. In this very room, I reminded Robert that he must remember the value of family. I wonder if you need such a reminder, as well. Certainly you remember that mine own son traveled across the seas and back in search of a bride for you?"

Rhaegar let out a slow breath, closing his eyes. "I would never forget that, it was horri-"

"And then only to meet his death on that fool's errand when there was already a perfectly wonderful and suitable bride here, right here in Westeros!" Rhaelle continued with a flourish, her hand sweeping over to gesture to Elia. "And yet you seem to have forgotten her -_ and your two children _ \- just as you forgot your bond of family to House Baratheon when you absconded with Robert's betrothed like a thief in the night!"

It seemed Rhaelle was not always opposed to raising one's voice - and that Robert's penchant for loud expressions was not from his Baratheon side alone.

"Aunt, please," Rhaegar said, his voice strained. He raised his hands up in feigned surrender. "It is not as it seems. I do not wish to offend, but you are wrong."

"I think not," Rhaelle replied, brusque and sharp. "Though I suppose I would not know," she conceded. "I confess I am simply not familiar with the sensation of being wrong. Though surely you must be?"

_ Well, almost conceded. _

Then she took a few steps towards him, turning her head to the side as though she were solving a puzzle. Rhaegar leaned back slightly from his waist, his chin dipping into his chest. He watched her with a wary eye, clearly unnerved by her study of him.

"Do you know," Rhaelle said slowly, tilting her head up, "You quite remind me of my brother - your grandfather," she pondered.

"Oh," Rhaegar perked up, clearly eager for what seemed like a more positive shift in their interaction. Then his expression turned puzzled. "I was always under the impression you did not have the most favorable impression of him."

Her own expression did not change. "Exactly," she drawled.

It was then that they heard some kind of scuffle outside and raised voices. And one voice was louder than the rest.

_ Robert. _

The two Kingsguard moved hesitantly towards Rhaegar and then in a flash, the doors burst open and Robert Baratheon stood before them. His eyes - wild and furious - went all over the room until they quickly arrived on Rhaegar.

After everything she had seen in her life, Rhaella now wondered if she had ever seen so much fury in one man's eyes.

"WHERE IS SHE?" Robert bellowed, breathing hard, more beast than stag. As he made a quick move towards his target, Elia and Rhaella both let out sounds of alarm. Rhaegar's eyes went wide as he scrambled backwards and behind the table, and Arthur and Oswell moved in front of him quickly.

Ser Jaime and Ser Gerold moved to restrain Robert, and when it was clear they were still struggling as two against one, Ser Oswell moved to push the stormlord back as well. Jon Arryn was vaguely behind Robert, pulling on his shoulder and telling him to calm down.

"If you laid one hand on her, you filthy dragon cunt, we will meet on the battlefield!" Robert roared, his face red and wild. "Can't even fight me like a man, protected by your knights like a little girl!"

Rhaella knew her aunt would surely call for Robert to stop and behave himself. Except that when she looked at the silver-and-grey haired woman, she found that she was watching Rhaegar with an amused and placid expression.

"Aunt!" she whispered urgently. Rhaelle looked to her and acknowledged her plea with a mild eye roll and exasperated sigh.

"Robert," his grandmother called blandly. "Please comport yourself." Her words came out with all the emotion of asking for a slice of bread - or perhaps less. _ No, certainly less. _

Rhaegar, Jon Arryn, Elia and even Ser Arthur's heads all whipped to the old woman with disbelieving eyes, and she seemed to give in then with a small huff. "Robert!" Rhaelle finally yelled with one jab of her cane to the floor. "I do not wish to see these knights toss you into the black cells or worse!" That command came out with force and even a hint of grandmotherly emotion.

That broke through to him finally and he began to slacken his resistance then, catching his breath from the strain of fighting against the hold of the other men.

Rhaegar cleared his throat as he walked forward then, smoothing his silver hair and pulling down on his black doublet to straighten it. "Cousin Rob-"

"Do not dare to call me cousin!" Robert hissed and the Kingsguard pushed him back once more. "You are no family of mine!" His eyes went to his grandmother then, holding her gaze with a wild finality. And it was clear she had no objection to that statement.

Rhaegar let out a slow breath. "As you wish. _ Lord Baratheon _...I know you seek answers. I would like to assure you that Lady Lyanna is perfectly well and safe, here in the Keep."

"Lyanna? She's here?" Robert asked desperately, almost as though a daze had come over him. As quick as it came, it vanished and his expression turned fearsome.

"Take me to her. NOW."


	7. The Longest Day, Part 3 - Brandon

_**This begins right after Brandon and Elia part ways in Chapter 5**_

* * *

Brandon paced like a caged wolf as he waited for Ned to arrive.

He realized they had not seen each other since they parted ways after that blasted tourney.

_Harrenhal_.

He shook his head, trying to rid himself of the darkness. Though it remained, taking his thoughts to his sister. They spiraled further and he tried to think of home in comfort, but that led him to think of Benjen. _Young, sweet Ben _. Alone as the Stark in Winterfell.

_We're orphans now, pup, _he thought to himself.

_I'm so sorry. _

Now he thought back to the brother he would see soon and wished he could just go to Ned directly instead of waiting like this. But Elia had been right when she suggested that they have some privacy.

He stopped pacing for a moment, closing his eyes as he remembered his lapse, though small, in judgment with the Queen. He cursed himself for grabbing her hand like that. But something came over him in the moment, and it happened before he thought about what he was doing.

_Typical_.

Somehow since that day when he woke to her tending his neck - since he found out how she stood up for him in front of the Mad King no less, a respect for her had lodged itself in him, as deep as the roots of a weirwood. And in their conversations since and the time they'd spent together during these past few weeks in the capital, he found himself at ease when he was with her.

That's what he felt when they began a bit of a banter earlier as they sipped their wine. And then she had closed her eyes as the sun washed over her, and Brandon felt himself staring at the beautiful calm that took over her face then, his eyes drifting to her lips as she seemed to try and regain her composure. _From the wine or our conversation? _he had wondered at the time.

That was what had prompted him to bring up her dark gown - he was trying to rouse himself from thoughts like that, in addition to avoiding the grief and rage that seemed to lie in wait for him more and more these days.

"Get a hold of yourself," he muttered to himself, resuming his pacing.

Finally a few moments later, there was a knock on the door and he found himself without breath as he waited for it to open. And when it finally did, any breath in him left him in a rush.

"Ned." Brandon's voice was broken, shards of an icicle on the ground.

His own name barely left Ned's mouth before their arms were around each other in a strong embrace. Brandon closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. To see his brother was overwhelming in equal parts good and painful.

He pulled back to look him over. "You didn't need to come here, Ned," he told him gruffly but with a small smile.

Not surprisingly, Ned looked back at him with an intensely somber gaze. "I needed to know you were _alive _, Brandon, that you were safe!" he replied, the tone of his voice betraying his attempt to steady his emotions. "When I got the first raven, about father - " His voice wavered slightly as he paused.

"Ned. It's my fault -"

"You did what you thought was right. It's not your fault there was a monster on the throne," Ned began, closing his eyes before opening them a few moments later to look at his older brother. "There...there were no good choices. You're alive though, and for that, I give thanks."

Brandon wondered if he truly meant it - or if he was just relieved he wasn't dead too. Ned looked at his neck uneasily, wincing as he took in the remaining marks of the device that nearly took his life. "How did you survive? Why did he not kill you?"

Brandon's hand ghosted along his neck. "It is a long story." It wasn't, truly. It was quite short. But it could wait for another time, he reasoned. "But...I am lucky to be alive."

There was an awkward silence before Ned spoke again. "You said you knew of Lyanna, that she's safe?" Ned asked hopefully.

The reality was Brandon did not even have all the facts. But the letter Elia had shown him made clear she was not kidnapped. After that, the truth was - well, he did not know. He could only pray it was as he wanted it to be. _That would be the best truth. _

"Ned," he sighed. "It's not what I thought, what anyone thought."

"What do you mean?"

"The prince - the K- ," Brandon gritted out. "Rhaegar did not take her. She went with him. It seems...they arranged it all."

His brother - his kind, quiet brother - took a few steps back from him as his face collapsed into disbelief. "That's an awful jape, Brandon."

"It's no jape."

"There was a letter, Ned," he said tiredly. "But we won't know everything until she is back with us. The Queen says they have tried to get word to her and….Rhaegar." The name came out in a growl.

Ned ran one hand over his face, weary and confused. "I feel like we're in some kind of farce, Brandon - and a bad one. How did we end up in the south, in the capital - father dead and Lya missing?"

What was there to say? Every morning when he had awoken the past few weeks in the capital, at first Brandon thought he was in Winterfell - every morning. It always took a few moments before he realized where he was; in what world he now existed.

The only thing he could think to say was the truest emotion in him. "We should never have left Winterfell. We're not meant for the south." His voice shook with a seething frustration.

"Brandon," Ned began quietly. "Did father talk to you of his...his plans with Jon and Lord Tully?"

He looked at his brother cautiously. "A bit. It was...it was to have an alliance to bring some control against Aerys..." His brother looked at him nervously but did not reply. "Ned?"

But before he could answer, the door swung open.

And in the doorway was their little sister.

Lyanna looked wilder than normal, her hair styled in a messy braid. And she wore breeches and a tunic. There was a bit of dirt on her face, and her cheeks looked like they had been slightly burned by the sun, he noted. Her eyes went wide as she looked between the two of them and then suddenly Ned had closed the distance between them.

"Lyanna," Ned whispered into her hair, enveloping her into his arms. "You're safe."

"Ned," she cried, her arms tight around him. "I did not know you would be here, but I am glad for it, brother." After a few moments, they pulled back to look at each other, both with slightly watery smiles. Then she turned to Brandon, moving towards him quickly, still smiling.

Her path was halted when he took two steps back and looked away from her as he shut his eyes tightly.

"First," he said tightly. "Tell me that you that you are well and you have not been hurt."

He could see the uncertainty brewing in her eyes as she tried to understand his wariness. "I have not been hurt," she stated quietly.

Brandon gave a single nod before he spoke once more. "Is it true, then." It was a question but it was stated as fact once the words left his lips.

The only sound, the only response, one that filled the silent and tense room, was a short gasp from Lyanna.

"How did you know?" she finally asked after some moments.

"Is..it...true," Brandon asked once more. Without even looking at his brother, he knew that Ned was watching the two of them with trepidation.

She did not reply with words, but when he looked at her, he saw the answer in the wild but frantic defiance apparent in her eyes.

"It does not matter how I know," he began, trying to remain calm, though he knew he would not succeed. "What matters is that I do, Lya! But tell me there is something I don't know, some piece that will help me understand why you did this!" Brandon yelled.

"I didn't think any of this would happen!" she shouted, her voice breaking.

"What did you think would happen? Hmm? Tell me, were you just going to hide away the rest of your life?"

"Well I didn't think you'd come barging into the red keep, Brandon!"

"Lya," Ned whispered, breaking the tension between his siblings. "You went with him? Truly? He did not kidnap you?"

"Brother…" she uttered. She could never get mad at Ned. Brandon, always. Benjen - a bit. But Ned - never. The sparseness of her words made her answer clear enough. "I did not want to marry Robert, I told you what he was like. And Rhaegar…we wrote to each other after Harrenhal."

Ned looked at her and the shock was all too clear but more than that, it was the look of betrayal that defined his reaction. Cold and pure.

It was clear Lyanna was struggling to find the words. And then it seemed like something clicked and she turned her attentions back on her eldest brother. "Why did you come here like that, Brandon?" she asked desperately.

He gazed at their little sister, his grey eyes piercing her with anger and hurt in equal parts. "Do you think so _little _of us that we would not look for you? Of me?" he asked with a bite. "That I wouldn't do everything to make sure you were safe?"

"But I was safe!"

Then he laughed, harsh and bitter. "Mayhaps if you'd bothered to tell us, we'd have known that, wouldn't we? But you did it all in secret."

She flinched and Brandon knew then that _she _knew he was right. "You would have stopped me, father would have," she whispered roughly.

"Aye, so we would have. But you didn't tell us and now look where we find ourselves!"

"It's not my fault!" she shouted indignantly.

"ENOUGH!"

Brandon and Lyanna's heads both snapped towards their normally quiet brother, who had remained silent most of the conversation until now.

Ned looked at them both, rage and a crushing pain taking over his eyes. Then he sat in a chair wearily, resting his head in one hand.

"You fighting with each other won't bring father back." His eyes remained closed as he rubbed his forehead, as though the motion would erase the events that brought them to this moment.

"It won't," Brandon agreed. "But she needs to know, Ned. Father always let her do as she pleased -"

"He didn't!" Lyanna shouted in defense. "He wouldn't even let me learn how to wield a sword, let alone have a say in my life! And I'm right here, don't talk about me like I'm not here!"

"Brandon, Lya, please -" Ned interjected but to no avail.

"You're here now, Lyanna," Brandon said, his tone low and warning. "But where were you when father burned in the throne room?"

Her eyes went wide as silence engulfed the room before Brandon spoke again.

"Where were you when I nearly strangled myself to death, trying to reach for a sword, reach father, wondering how I would get to you, where you were!"

"I didn't know...I didn't know you were hurt as well."

Brandon laughed at that. "You didn't know? Didn't your silver prince tell you?" She made no reply which was answer enough. Silence was always more revealing than words, of course. "No? He hid the truth, did he? I suppose he's used to the smell of burning flesh. I confess, that was new for me."

The tears began to fall from her eyes then and he wondered if he had been too harsh. But she was not the one who would live with the image of their father dying for the rest of their days.

Perhaps by luck for all of them, their argument was broken by a knock at the door.

_Was the capital one meeting after another that was interrupted? _ Brandon wondered, grateful and annoyed all at once. A guard entered without waiting for permission. _And why should they? I am, for all intents, a prisoner, if a well treated one. _

The young man cleared his throat. "Pardon, m'lords. Your presence is requested by King Rhaegar."

He hated hearing that title. So much.

"Whose presence?"

The young lad blanched. "A - all of you. Including the lady."

"Don't suppose we can say no," Brandon stated darkly and the poor guard opened his mouth to reply though nothing came out. He let out a weary sigh before nodding. "Fine, show us where."

* * *

When they entered the room, he had only been expecting the silver fuck.

Instead they were met by a large group, and it felt like the tensions slapped him right in the face the moment they entered.

He saw Rhaegar on one side of the room and next to him was a woman he believed to be his mother, the now Queen Dowager. And then next to her was Elia. They exchanged a nervous glance as she gave him the barest hint of a smile - though he could see the worry in her eyes. He wanted to go back to the morning, to talking and drinking wine together. _What_ _a balm that would be right now. _

But no, they were now in the middle of what could only be described as an unstable brew of conflicting emotions, goals and desires.

He wondered if this was what made wildfire.

On the other side of the room was Jon Arryn and Robert who sported a look of utter relief when they walked in, his blue eyes landing on Lyanna with a wide smile. And there was someone else with Robert, a woman, Brandon realized, though who - he knew not. But the calm and controlled look on her face instinctively made him wary.

It felt like everyone's eyes were flying around to the various parties, waiting for someone to speak first. He noticed his sister did not make eye contact with either woman who sported the title of Queen.

Of course, it was Robert who broke the tension, moving to the Stark party quickly and straight for Lyanna. Brandon wondered what reception he was expecting. The two barely knew each other. _ And he certainly does not know the cold truth. _

"Lyanna," Robert said, his voice warm and full of emotion. He moved to take her hands in his and her face and body tightened immediately. She looked like she wanted to speak but no words came out.

"As you can see," Rhaegar finally spoke with an even tone, though he seemed displeased by Robert being so close to her. "Lyanna is well, Rob - Lord Baratheon. You can be at ease now."

Robert dropped her hands and he turned in a fury to look at Rhaegar. "Don't try to clean your sins, dragon devil!" he yelled. "Whatever you did will be repaid in kind a hundred times over and - "

"I WANTED TO GO WITH HIM!"

Lyanna's voice was desperate when she shouted for all to hear. And the room went silent.

"He did not kidnap me, Robert," Lyanna reiterated, tired though resolute. "I went with him - by my own will."

Robert turned to look at his former betrothed and the horror coupled with utter disbelief was plain as day. "You're lying. Y-you can't possibly mean that. Why would you say that, Lyanna?"

She let out a breath of exasperation. "It is the truth!"

The storm lord's eyes shifted quickly back to Rhaegar. "What did you do to her?" he asked, somewhere between a roar and a hiss. "Is this some sorcery? Hmm? Did you poison her?"

"There was no trickery, Robert!" Lyanna yelled, interjecting before Rhaegar could even speak. "It was my choice," she finished defiantly.

Brandon exhaled a weary groan, closing his eyes for a moment and wishing he had not let her come - though they had not really been given much of a choice.

"So," the older woman who had been by Robert spoke, cutting the thick, tense silence with her sharp tongue. "This is how House Stark treats it's word, it's honor."

Lyanna turned quickly to the lady, her eyes like a scared but vicious wolf. "Who are you to judge us?"

The look that silver and grey lady gave Lyanna in that moment would have made Tywin Lannister wither. Then she smiled and it sent shivers down Brandon's spine.

"I am Lady Rhaelle Baratheon - some still know me as _Princess _Rhaelle _Targaryen _. Robert's grandmother."

"My lady," Lyanna gritted out slowly. "House Stark _is _honorable."

"Really?" Lady Baratheon drawled. "How odd, I was always under the impression that it was not honorable to break a betrothal. But do tell me more about your honor, Lady Lyanna."

"That's not - I didn't - "

"Are you a Hightower, a Bracken or a Stark?" she pondered falsely as the names rolled over her tongue like heads on the executioner's block.

"You have no right! I -" Before Lyanna could speak further, Brandon grabbed her hand and with every ounce of emotion in his body, he used his gaze to silence her. He hoped for once she would listen.

"Apologies, my lady. My sister did not mean to speak out of turn," he answered, not able to hide his strained tone.

"Is that so?" Rhaelle Baratheon asked darkly. "I suspect she does not care if she speaks out of turn."

Before Lyanna could object again, Rhaella raised a hand to quiet her. "Enough, girl," the older woman said, nearly bored. "If you think you're the one in control here, you're even dimmer than I thought. The rest of my words will be saved for my nephew," the silver-haired woman said as her eyes trailed to Rhaegar.

"Aunt," the King began and Brandon realized then, with beautiful satisfaction, that he was intimidated by this woman. "I would like to make amends for disrupting the betrothal between Lord Robert and Lady Lyanna."

"Disrupting? You've broken it, dear nephew," she said sweetly. "I wonder...you said what you did was done with the noblest of intentions, nephew. If it is all so noble, I wonder then why you did it all so secretly?" Rhaegar gave her no verbal answer, instead only responding with a tight and angry gaze. "Are you such a fool?"

And yet another quiet fell upon the room as she chastened the man that was to be their King. "I hesitate to remind you -" Rhaegar began with an icy tone.

"Oh, do not hesitate!" Rhaelle tittered. "Remind away...nephew."

"I am your King," he seethed.

She looked at him, her chin tilted up. "Say it a few more times and perhaps it shall make you worthy." Robert snorted a laugh at that, looking upon his grandmother with admiration. "Or will you burn me for my insolence? Are you so much like your father that you shall break bonds with your vassals so easily..._ my King _?" His title was said with such a taunt, it would have better had she not said it at all.

Before the King could reply, the Queen Dowager placed a hand on his arm and gave him a look that Brandon supposed was meant to calm him. "I think it would be best if we reconvened for these discussions - both with House Baratheon and House Stark - with the Small Council." She looked to her son then, telling him with her eyes to concur.

Rhaegar cleared his throat before replying. "Yes, that seems like it would be for the best. I would like for you both to be compensated for your...losses."

Brandon had been so caught up with the tension unfolding between Robert and Lyanna that it had allowed him to push away the one thing that was driving every part of him since that horrible day a few weeks ago.

"Losses? _Losses _?" he asked incredulously. "You father _burned _mine alive and that's what you call simply a loss?" Before the silver-tongued farce of a King could try to sing his way out of this, Brandon stopped him. "Your mother speaks wisely. I'll not have this talk with just you." He pointed a finger at him as his eyes pinned him simultaneously. "Bring your little advisors when we meet, let them explain how you will compensate us for your father killing ours," Brandon growled lowly. "For now, I want to be with my brother and sister as we mourn _our loss _." He moved to leave, gesturing for Ned and Lyanna to follow him before they were stopped.

"Wait," Robert called, his voice pure steel. "Tell me."

It was Ned who spoke then. "Robert?" he asked, confused. But his friend's eyes were on Lyanna.

"I deserve to know why."

She looked at him with something akin to a mix of pity and frustration. "We're not suited, Robert. You must see that," she beseeched.

"I don't see that!" he yelled, confusion and anger lacing his voice. There was a pause before he spoke once more. "There's more. I can tell."

She looked down at the ground when she spoke next. "And you...you would never keep to one bed, I know it."

He flinched at the insult - of _her _truth - before gradually his face reddened in rage. "Is that the tale he told you - or you told yourself before you opened your legs for a married prince?"

"Robert!" Ned yelled, angered and horrified all at once. Brandon wondered who else would disappoint his brother today.

The stormlord blinked at Ned as just the slightest bit of fury seeped away - though only the slightest bit. "Sorry, Ned," he said low and quiet, though there was still danger in his voice.

"I'm no whore, Robert! We married! I am his wife!"

And just like that, in one swift stroke, the room - _and perhaps the realm _\- shifted irrevocably. Brandon looked at Lyanna, his eyes wide in a storm of emotions - anger, shock, shame. He looked to Elia then and saw that the Queen Dowager had clutched one of her hands in her own fiercely. Elia's eyes found his at the same moment, and an unnamed emotion passed between them.

His eyes then shifted to the silver fuck who looked completely unfazed now. "It's really quite simple, you see. She is to be my second wife."

Brandon found himself reeling from the shock of the new admission - and thinking that they had been so close to leaving the room before everything fell apart yet again.

_Maybe if I close my eyes, I will wake up and not be in this fucking hell._

* * *

_**Well, I'm not super satisfied with this chapter. I found it really hard to write Lyanna and Robert convincingly. I really don't know how a pre-war/rebellion Robert would react to Lyanna telling him she wanted to go with Rhaegar, but I tried to take some inspiration from Ned and Robert's arguments in AGOT - particularly 'defiance was not a dish he tasted often.' Meep.**_


	8. Chapter 8

_Casterly Rock_

Kevan watched as his brother read the first message from the capital - wondering, waiting for his reaction. His pale green eyes trailed over the message, though his face gave no reaction to words in front of him.

After a few moments, Tywin finally glanced up at him. "Where is Gerion?"

_Did it really matter where our youngest brother is at this very moment? You won't like the answer, brother. _ "He is with Tyrion."

His brother continued to stare at him, letting silence fill the room. The rising sun had creeped into the room and made the gold flecks in Tywin's eyes flash like the spark of steel tested.

"They're reading together," Kevan finally continued - admitted, really. "It's Gerion's latest favorites - about the wonders." He rather enjoyed observing Gery with their nephew, the two were quite happy together. It was the only time he saw any joy in the child, truth be told.

"Gerion fills his head with nonsense."

"They're just books, Tywin - "

"He indulges him," his brother chastised coldly.

_He's the only one who does_, Kevan thought sadly. After a few moments, he dared to ask what he wanted the moment the raven arrived. "You've read the pr- King's message, I trust?"

Tywin tossed the parchment onto his desk carelessly as though it were false currency. "Of course. Do you have the other?" he asked.

Kevan produced the second piece of parchment and handed it over. "A slightly different tale."

He watched as Tywin's eyes went over the words before him, though his face betrayed nothing of what he read.

"I used to think Rhaegar had promise. If things had gone differently at Duskendale…" he trailed off before resuming his line of thought. "But then Harrenhal, now this. He has squandered it all."

"What was he thinking? The Stark girl is nothing extraordinary. Perhaps there is some sort of wild beauty there. But if it were beauty, surely he would have looked west," Kevan pondered. "Is he simply a love-struck fool? He never seemed one to fall that way."

"I learned long ago that more often than not, there is little use in searching for logic in the mind of a Targaryen." Then he raised the piece of parchment once more, inspecting it as he rolled the dry paper between his fingers. "But for all his follies, I do not believe love could be all there is to this. He cannot be _that _weak," Tywin pondered, his eyes narrowing over the sea of scrolls on his desk.

"The Baratheon boy is furious."

"Of course he is," Tywin agreed. "I would expect no less."

"What was Rhaegar reading all those days he spent in the library if not at least some of his family's own history." Did the young king not care to remember the Laughing Storm? What concessions will the crown make to the stag this time? Kevan then recalled the rest of the Grand Maester's whispers. "Pycelle seems to think there is a friendship between the Dornish princess - "

"Queen," his brother and liege interjected. His voice was short but distant - perhaps even with a hint of dissatisfaction.

"He seems to think there is perhaps an...alliance of sorts between her and Brandon Stark. She cared for him when he was injured."

Tywin gazed at him, his eyes narrowing as he seemed to be in thought. "So he says. That was a daring gamble on her part, saving him like that. It could have easily turned the other way with Aerys."

"But now it has yielded its benefits, it would seem," Kevan observed. Tywin's mouth quirked with a small cluck as he sunk into thought.

"They'll need to make many concessions to the Starks for what Aerys has done - but his death itself is the biggest one they could have given, so in that there is already a start. Still, Rhaegar has shaken it all again with this folly with the Stark girl."

"What will you do?" Kevan finally asked.

The Lord of Casterly Rock looked at him, his eyes glinting and cold. "Find out how weak the ground is, of course."

* * *

_Sunspear_

Hotah watched as the maester handed the various parchments to the prince, placing two carefully on top. He knew those must be of importance.

The prince unfurled the first one and a small smile looked near apparent. "He's coming back, good." He read it once more, eyeing it carefully and closing his eyes for a moment, as though he were in prayer. Then he opened his eyes and put quill to parchment. "If we send this now, it should reach him at the next port."

Caleotte nodded in agreement and was about to take the finished message from Doran when the door to the solar burst open.

In tumbled the little princess, tears streaming down her cheeks. Princess Arianne's speed was slow as she moved with a slight limp, holding the skirt of her lilac dress a bit just past her knee. When she was in front of her father's desk, she looked up at him with a frown.

"Arianne, what's wrong?" her father asked steadily. She made the turn around the desk slowly, her feet shuffling and her eyes watery. When she got to him, he placed one hand on her cheek and asked her again with simply a look.

"It hurts," she sniffled and pointed at a skinned knee. "Obara and Nym go too fast." Her cousins were just a bit older, but always faster than the little princess.

"Let me see," Doran said softly, examining the reddened patch of skin on her small knee. "I believe you will live, but let us have Maester Caleotte confirm, hmm?" After Caleotte had agreed, hiding his amusement at the false severity of the situation, he left to find a small bandage for the girl.

"Come now," the prince said, huffing slightly as he brought his plump daughter onto his lap and kissed her forehead gently. "The pain shall ease, it always does."

She nodded solemnly as he wiped away the remnants of her tears. "Mama is with Quentyn." Then she looked up at him, slightly indignant. "He won't play with me."

"You must give him time to be able to walk first before you involve him in your mischief, Arianne," he replied with a small laugh.

"But I don't have a mischief," she grumbled in confusion before turning to look at the papers on his desk. "What are you doing?" she murmured with a huff of a sigh.

"Working - just as you will when you are older and rule Dorne."

That raised her curiosity as her face brightened then. "Will you teach me?" she asked, seemingly having forgotten the source of her earlier troubles.

"Well, I've written to your Uncle Oberyn -

"I miss Uncle Oby," she lamented. "Will he come home soon?"

"Soon." The prince said no more than that.

Though he did smile.

"And now," Prince Doran continued, "I am reading a letter from my sister Elia. You remember her, do you not?"

A sharp stress had taken over the prince when he found out that his beloved sister was in the capital by order of the King. But when the news came of his death, some relief found its way back to Prince Doran.

"Yes! I remember Aunt Elia," Arianne exclaimed excitedly. "She is a princess like me. And she let me hold her baby when we went to the capital. Rhaenys, she was very sweet," she confirmed with a solid nod. "_She _would play with me, I'm sure," she added in a mumble, more to herself than her father.

"Perhaps so." The prince's eyes read over the message from his sister once more before he was roused from his thoughts by his daughter tugging on the sleeve of this tunic. "Your aunt Elia is now a Queen, my dear."

The little princess looked at him with wide eyes. "What does that mean?"

His eyes moved past his desk to a small table on the other side of the room where a cyvasse board lay. The various pieces were in a bundle on the side, waiting to be placed where needed.

"It means we must ensure she stays a Queen."

* * *

_**Back to King's Landing in the next chapter**_


	9. Chapter 9

**_This chapter is primarily flashbacks told through an outline of one event so I've broken the present and past, hope that keeps it clear_**

* * *

Elia hated the throne room.

Until recently, she could only associate the massive hall with death and madness, where stone dragons watched the folly of men with no eyes.

Now she and Rhaegar were preparing to enter the hall for the coronation. She wished Oberyn or Doran were here - not to witness her being crowned, but simply to remember what it was to truly feel safe. There was Uncle Lewyn, of course, and his presence was a great boon. And with Aerys gone, she could finally erase the little tapping within her brain, the bit that wondered if Aerys would for some reason turn on her uncle for no reason.

Just like he could have done with her at any moment since he had forced her to return to the capital.

She closed her eyes.

_ As he boasted once that he could do to Rhaenys or Aegon. _ In just one swift motion, he could have burned them before her eyes, taken their lives - the pulse of heart.

_ Aerys is gone, _she repeated to herself.

_ Gone, gone, gone. _

_ Dust beneath the Sept. _

Elia opened her eyes as she exhaled a deep breath, shedding those nerves. She let her eyes trail just slightly to her side to take in Rhaegar. He was resplendent in a doublet of black and scarlet red, the latter color matching her own gown. And yet of course he looked completely calm, as if nothing were amiss.

_ It's not as though his father died by drinking wildfire. Mixed with his own blood. _

_ Or a Lord Paramount was burned alive. _

_ Right here. _

_ Aerys died here too. _

She had dreamt of the day that they would be rid of Aerys - not so she could wear a crown, but so that they could _ truly _ breathe. And yet now here they were and her breath felt measured once more. It had only been a few days since that disastrous meeting with Robert Baratheon and the Starks - since she was slapped in the face with the reality of her husband's folly.

* * *

_ 'I am his wife!' _the Stark girl had yelled.

Everything had become a buzz - a hum - as soon as Elia heard those words. It was as though she were falling through a tunnel while remaining still the entire time. The flashes of some of her warmest memories washed over her - perhaps in a bid by her mind to cradle her: playing in the Water Gardens with Oberyn when they were young and Doran and their mother watching over them; Rhaenys - _ Rhaenys, _ precocious and running and laughing with Viserys; and Aegon, her sweet babe, nestled in her arms while Rhaella sang a sweet tune. The memories, images, battled against the overwhelming beat of her heart that roared throughout her.

"Elia?" a voice had called out to her.

She snapped backwards, cold from the loss of her most comforting moments and then a hand grasped her own, thin but secure.

_ Rhaella_.

_ 'She is to be my second wife,' _her husband then said.

It had been her good-mother that had convinced Rhaegar that he should not insist on Lyanna being part of the coronation.

"It is too soon to force such change after the actions of your father. Let the High Septon approve whatever you intend," Rhaella had told him after Robert Baratheon left the room and then the Starks, the girl included. "Hold a simple coronation that shall not cost much to show there is a peaceful transition between your father's reign and yours, that there is stability." By some miracle, Rhaegar had nodded in agreement, saying that the ceremony was not what mattered. Then they had all bid each other goodbye for the day.

_ Well… _

It had not really been _ that _ simple. Would that it were.

Robert Baratheon had to be restrained and then taken away from the room with his grandmother left to deal with him until proper negotiations could be held. And Brandon...Brandon Stark looked at Rhaegar with such contempt, it was a miracle that he did not lash out like the stormlord. But Elia had realized through the past few weeks, as she and Brandon had spoken more time in each other's company, that he was a changed man. Witnessing his father's death may have taken some of his brashness and impulsiveness...

But in their place, they seemed to have been replaced by something deeper - a cold anger, waiting to be unleashed.

"I never liked my maester's lessons," Brandon had finally responded, his voice holding no ounce of emotion. "But I paid attention all the same. And I don't remember learning of your southern gods approving of two wives."

"As a matter of fact, Lord Stark, we wed by...by the old gods. A heart tree at the Isle of Faces."

The look in Brandon Stark's eyes right then made Robert Baratheon seem like a mere fawn. Then he laughed. Quietly at first, before it grew into a roar.

"Get your little advisors, set the meeting," he gritted after his bitter laughter subsided, "and we will deal with this. You'll not take my sister in the night and make a mockery of our gods." His words were complimented by a feral smile and wild eyes as he shook his head slowly. "My father did not consent to that wedding, _ he _ did not bring her before a heart tree."

"Brandon, it was done properly! I pro - "

"Lyanna," he whispered but it came out like a growl. "If you have any love for our family, you will remain quiet - now." The girl turned even paler than she already was.

Then his eyes turned Ser Arthur and Ser Oswell - they all knew the two had been with Rhaegar at the time. "Neither you nor these so-called knights had any authority to bring her there." Brandon's voice was so chilly, Elia thought he had brought the full force of winter down upon them. Then quickly his attentions were set back on Rhaegar. "And if you think I shall watch you be crowned, you are as much a fool as I thought you were," he finished before moving to exit and take both his siblings with him, though the girl went with a torn expression. Just before he walked through the door, his eyes landed on Elia for a few moments before he left.

* * *

And so here they were, she and Rhaegar, walking through up to the Iron Throne to be crowned and begin their reign as King and Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Rhaella stood to the side of the steps to the awful throne holding Aegon, while Rhaenys stood with Viserys as they held each other's hand.

The whole court had heard of the King's return as soon as he appeared but the whispers were all about Lyanna Stark and how she had not been kidnapped. Then of course, lords and ladies recalled the King's crowning of the girl at Harrenhal and took this latest development as confirmation that he had taken her as a mistress as many had suspected he had done already at that blasted tourney.

Of course, none knew that he intended to do something his ancestors had not done since Maegor the Cruel.

Elia wanted no part in the gossip nonetheless, it did her no good to fuel it. The more people regarded Lyanna Stark as someone who had the favor of the King, the more her position and influence could grow at court - whether the girl realized it or not. Somehow though, Elia did not think the girl had the faintest clue how the court worked - or that she even cared.

* * *

"In a way I pity her," she had told Rhaegar after the absurd meeting with all involved parties. The children were asleep by the time they were finished. So she and her husband - _ I may have to say 'our husband' soon _ \- retired to his solar to speak finally.

"But perhaps she does not warrant my thoughts when she did not herself spare me hers. But you are the one who has truly done me ill, husband."

"It was not meant as a slight, I have told you - "

"Are my needs, my life less worthy than hers?"

Her words were met with a sigh. As though by voicing her frustration it was somehow a slight against him.

"Of course, now the realm will see us as foes even if we are not," Elia continued without emotion. "She, the young, vibrant and fair northern girl...to me, the older, sickly Dornishwoman."

"I wish you would not speak of yourself as such, Elia," he said with a deep and frustrated sigh. _ And there came the hint of melancholy, always rearing its head eventually. _"I do not see you that way."

"You have made it so the whole realm sees me that way. You're a fool if you do not realize that. Never mind that I gave you _ two _ healthy children in less than _ two _ years - something most women do not do. No one will talk about that, of course," she added the last as an aside. "No, now I am seen only in contrast to her, I will be defined by her, as the impediment to your perfect love story. How perfectly marvelous for me."

"I do all of this for the realm!" he yelled in frustration.

"You fucked a girl for the realm?" she asked with false innocence. "If you were not intending on defying the Seven, I would think you've been praying daily in thanks to them that it is not Pycelle you were required to fuck."

That shut him up, but only for a moment.

"I told you before - the dragon must have three heads."

"How could I forget? It was not so long after I nearly died birthing our son."

He winced at that but was clearly not discomfited enough to stop talking. "All the signs were there, Elia," he pleaded. "An ice maiden, the False Spring - I merely followed the signs, you see."

Elia looked up and closed her eyes with a hum of a prayer, trying to calm herself. It wasn't Rhaella's fault she could not be there more for him when he was a child, but the Queen wondered if her good-mother had been right - if she'd been able to be with him more as he grew up, would he still be so utterly delusional? Had books and privilege and Aerys somehow knotted into one rotten bundle in his brain?

Then she opened her eyes to look back at him. "Rhaegar, I do not want to discuss your prophecy. If you had paid more attention to all the books, you would know how fickle such a thing is - that you cannot force it to be. And how do you not know it is not Viserys - or his future children?" He looked at her as though she had slapped him and then the smallest ripple of uncertainty flashed over his eyes - perhaps _ he has his own doubts, but will not say it. _

Then a thought occurred to her. "What would you have done if your father had killed Rhaenys and Aegon? What of your three heads then?"

She should not have relished it, but she could not fight the victory she felt in seeing the horror cross his face then._ Let him know what his actions could have wrought. _"Yes, he often taunted me as such once we came here from Dragonstone upon his order. While you were the gods know where with your 'ice maiden.' He said he could burn them - "

"Elia - "

" - but what would be the point when you did not care? Then he realized it was best to keep Dorne in line by keeping the children and myself alive."

"He would never -

"I can't even imagine you care that their lives were in such a precarious state," she continued in a blithe stream of thought. "Mine was as well, of course, but we both know that you care not for me. But I had thought that you perhaps loved the children. I suppose you would just recreate them with the Lady Lyanna and - "

"I didn't know he would call you here! And I never thought he would hurt them!" he shouted, displaying more emotion than Elia had ever seen from him and she found herself shocked. "And of course I love them and you!"

Elia studied him, the man she thought she had grown to love - and perhaps he had too for her - after she'd been forced into the marriage. Everyone thought she and her mother were some Dornish witches that schemed for it; or that somehow Dorne was powerful enough to bend Aerys to her will. In truth, it was the King's demand and one did not refuse Aerys, after all. Elia had just wanted to remain in Dorne, if she could have.

She brought herself to the present once more and took in the visage of her husband. Walking slowly, she closed the small gap between them and gently placed a hand on his cheek. She could see curiosity - and hope - in his eyes before they flitted to her lips briefly. _ Does he believe I shall just move past this? That we can be as we were in that first year of marriage, hidden away on Dragonstone? _ After a few moments of letting the tension build, she finally spoke.

"You do not know what love is, Rhaegar. You should not pretend at it." Her words were not malicious - just bittersweet.

Before he could try to argue with her, she continued. "I will call on the High Septon tomorrow to arrange the crowning. Heed your mother's words - do not dare bring the girl on that day when you are not married in the eyes of the Faith."

"I already told both you and mother, I shall not," he confirmed wearily. "I will explain it to Lyanna."

She fixed him with a cool but curious gaze. "Does she know of the prophecy, of what you want from her?" His eyes widened before he attempted to school his face and she could only let out a laugh though it was mirthless. She shook her head, wishing she could run away in the night with the children to Dorne. But that was only a fantasy. What she wanted was never a true option, of course. For now, she knew she could only end the day finally and try to find rest. "I only hope you can understand that you have begun your reign on the shakiest of grounds, and it is in no small part due to your own actions."

* * *

Large applause welcomed them both as they were both crowned by the High Septon. She and Rhaegar both turned to acknowledge the crowd before descending the steps down. When they reached the bottom, they went to Rhaella and Aegon first. The babe of a prince did not seem to like the loud clapping, squirming in his grandmother's arms, but settling a bit when he saw his mother.

"Are you king now, brother?" Viserys asked solemnly. Elia had taken the moment to go to Rhaenys, bending down to kiss her cheek and smooth her hair as the toddler toyed with the bracelets on her wrists excitedly.

Rhaegar smiled at the young boy. "I am, Viserys."

"Like father?" the young prince asked, utterly unaware of what could lay behind such a question were anyone else asking it.

"I am King," was all Rhaegar could reply. Then he turned to Rhaenys just as Elia had slipped her hand away from her. "My little dragon, did you enjoy the ceremony?" he asked his daughter.

Rhaenys leaned into Viserys, her chin tucked into her chest as she looked down and away from her father.

"She must be tired, I'm sure," Rhaegar said, his face slightly tight. Uncle Lewyn picked up Rhaenys then so they could all leave, and Elia cupped her daughter's cheek softly, earning a small smile of relief. The King looked on with no words.

* * *

The day after the Awful Horrendous Meeting and after Rhaegar first returned, he insisted on seeing the children first thing in the morning. Elia had wanted time to prepare Rhaenys but he would not be persuaded otherwise.

When they walked into the nursery, Rhaenys was there sitting a light green dress and playing with a wooden dragon toy as the nursemaid changed Aegon into his day clothes.

"Good morning, my little sun," Elia called to the toddler as they walked in.

"Mama!" she shouted when she saw her mother, as a bright smile swept over her face and she stood up to toddle quickly over to her. But then she saw Rhaegar behind Elia and her smile was gone within less than a moment as she stopped in her tracks abruptly.

Elia went to her and gently picked her up as Rhaegar joined them. "Rhaenys," he breathed excitedly. "How I missed you, my little dragon."

Rhaenys looked at her father, her brows furrowing in dismay before she buried her head into her mother's chest and clutched her small arms around Elia's shoulders.

"Rhaenys?" Rhaegar asked with confusion. "What is wrong?" The toddler's only response was to tighten her hold on her mother.

Her sweet girl was at the stage where she was so excited to use any and all words she could form every day. And when she used none now, Elia knew she was upset. When Rhaegar first left Dragonstone, Rhaenys had asked for him every day, multiple times a day. And then when they arrived in the capital, Elia was afraid it was too much change - and bad change - in such a short period of time.

"She has not seen you in months," Elia explained slowly, trying to be patient so as not to upset Rhaenys further. "She missed you, asked for you." Her hands caressed her daughter's hair soothingly. "And all she knows is that you have not been here. Your prophecy, your reasons mean nothing to her."

Elia could see the slight horror take over his face but he seemed to shake it away as he approached their daughter once more. "Rhaenys," he said, gently placing one hand on the back of her head and soft brown hair and trying to look at her face. But her only response was to turn her head to the other side.

"Please, Rhaegar," Elia said softly. "You cannot expect her to be happy just because you want it."

And that was the crux of it, was it not? He expected everything to be as it should - because how else should life be for him?

Then Rhaenys shifted her head to look up at her mother. "Stuck?"

"Stuck?" Rhaegar asked in confusion. "What does she mean? She's not stuck anywhere."

Elia breathed out a small laugh because the situation just felt utterly preposterous. "She means _ Stark _ \- Brandon Stark."

"What? Why is she asking for him?" Now he was truly horrified.

"He has been here these past few weeks, and Rhaenys has taken a shine to him."

"Stuuuuuck," Rhaenys repeated, this time more adamantly.

Elia rose with her daughter in her arms. "It seems your fondness for the Starks runs in the blood," she told him dryly before turning her gaze to Rhaenys softly. "Come, my love. Let us find Lord Stark, shall we?" The young princess was running her hands along the sheer ivory fabric of Elia's dress sleeves. She looked up and nodded with wide eyes.

"Elia." She turned at his call - it melancholy as ever - to find him holding Aegon now. "I'm still their father."

She gazed at him with a feigned quizzical expression. "Are you reminding me - or yourself?"

She was told that she could find Lord Stark in the godswood of the Red Keep. She wondered if anyone had worshipped there since perhaps Betha Blackwood. As they approached the entrance to the wooded area, she asked Ser Jaime and Ser Jonothor to wait on the outside in case Lord Stark was at prayer.

When they entered the secluded grove, she found Brandon's back facing them. He was kneeling in front of a large tree, though his head was not bent in prayer as far as Elia could tell. She had hoped to enter the area quietly but as soon as Rhaenys saw him, she called out excitedly. "Stuck!" And then squirmed down from Elia's arms to run over to him. He stayed kneeling before turning to them and greeting Rhaenys with a mischievous smile.

"Princess, where have you been? I've not seen you in a few days," he chastised though his tone was warm.

"Playing! With Vissy," she answered, tiling her head as though it were utterly obvious. Brandon shook his head, laughing richly, before his eyes landed on Elia. He rose to stand, pushing away his dark loose hair from his face. He was clad in a dark grey tunic that day. She suspected the heat of the capital forced him to shed his leather doublet.

A few beats of silence reigned between them before he spoke. "My Queen," he greeted her, his voice more somber, deep in its northern timbre.

"Have we returned to our formal titles then, Lord Stark?" she asked jokingly, but her voice shook a bit. She was nervous, she realized. Had his anger over Rhaegar's actions transferred to her as well now?

But then he smiled, genuine and warm. And his eyes were dark and sincere. "Elia."

That made her smile - until a voice inside her woke her: _ I should not like how my name sounds just because he says it. _

She cleared her throat. "Rhaenys asked to see you. I hope we have not disturbed your prayers?"

He looked back to the tree. "This is not like any godswood I know. This heart tree is oak and does not even have a face. I don't think my gods can see me here," he observed with a bit of unease. "So no, you've not disturbed me. I'm glad to see you - " His eyes seemed to widen at the realization of his words before he spoke again quickly. "See you both, I mean." His eyes went to Rhaenys then and in with quick movement and a grin, he picked the little girl up and placed her atop his shoulders, winning an excited squeal from her.

"Alright, Princess. You've a duty now - you must show me this godswood of yours. Are you up to the task?" he asked seriously as she placed her small hands under his bearded chin to hold on.

"Yes! Go, go!" she commanded, urging him forward.

"Rhaenys!" Elia chastised but letting out a small laugh at the same time.

Her daughter looked at her seriously for a moment and then inclined her head to the side and down to look at Brandon. "Please?"

"I am yours to command," he grinned wolfishly. "Come now, I see there's some water there." And so they began to walk through the wooded area, more secluded than the rest of the gardens. They walked past a few tall black cottonwood and elm trees before they arrived at the edge that looked out to the river.

The wind breezed past them, rustling the skirt of her silk ivory gown and teasing at Elia's hair. She'd worn it half-up and half-down that morning, too tired from the previous day's events to bother with an elaborate styling. She looked to Brandon and Rhaenys perched on his shoulders merrily. "Are you sure you do not mind?" she asked. "I would hate to trouble you - "

"I do not mind," he assured her. "After everything that has happened..." His face tightened as he looked into the distance for a moment before returning to her. "It is nice to find some relief in the laughter of this wee rascal."

"She does have that effect, easing one's woes," Elia commented wistfully. Then they stood at the overlook for a bit, taking in the river below as Rhaenys peered at birds flying above them.

"How are you?" Brandon asked.

Elia could not stifle a short laugh."Oh, you know. My husband intends on making me a sister-wife, so my life is certainly on the path I always wanted.," she replied with a dry grin.

"I'm surprised you can laugh at it," he observed though he looked amused.

"And I was surprised at the restraint you showed with my husband yesterday," she dared to say and hoped he would not take offense at the remembrance of yesterday's events. But it hung in the air like the stench of death and there was no use ignoring it.

"I've had time to reflect," he began, his words coming out slowly. "And as my...actions have only brought ruin here, I am trying to weigh what I do more carefully."

She could hear the restraint in his voice and wondered what lay underneath. But all she could do was nod and try not to give him a pitiful look of sympathy. "How are you?" she finally returned quietly.

Rhaenys began to direct him to another patch of the godswood then and so they walked there so she could look at a squirrel on a branch.

"I..I do not know how to answer that." He was looking up at the tree now but his eyes did not seem focused. It was then that Rhaenys demanded to be put back on the ground so she could run after the squirrel she had been watching. Brandon placed her on the grass, and she went as quickly as her small legs would let her in search of the small beast. The northern lord's eyes turned to look across to the faceless heart tree. "Lost...furious...I wake every morning, and I can't believe I live in a world without my father. And it is by my doing."

"Brandon," Elia began, moving to him and placing one hand on his arm gently. His eyes turned and focused on her. "You came in search of your sister. You could not have known what Aerys would do."

"I should have known better."

"It does not make it your fault."

He laughed mirthlessly. "You're too kind to me, I do not understand why."

"I suppose I have rather a soft spot for those who love their families so deeply they would do anything," she confessed.

"Why did you do it?" he asked as he gazed down at her. "I know what you said before - and you know I am grateful. What you did saved my life. But he could have hurt you, Elia...he _ did _," he whispered urgently, his eyes intense. But there was no anger there, just worry, desperation. It almost seemed like he was going to reach out to touch her cheek that had been hurt by Aerys, but he did not. "He could have done worse, surely you know that."

Elia looked up at him, at a loss for words at first and she wondered if her expression conveyed that. "I do know that. So many thoughts ran through my head that horrible afternoon, Brandon." She was trying to keep her voice steady but she could but help the occasional break. "I thought of what would come with him killing your father," she said quietly. "Then I saw you - and I imagined myself, straining for my children. I suppose at first I saw myself in you - and my children in your father. All of us pushed to a place we'd not wanted to be. And then I saw any hope of peace disappearing if I did not try."

"There were so many people there, your bloody southron white knights! And they just...watched! Why? How can that be?" he asked, anger lacing his words now.

"That's just it. I wondered when it would stop..._ if _it would stop?" Her eyes traveled to Rhaenys who was standing not far but looking up at a tree where the squirrel had climbed up. "Instability...war...it will only bring ruin for them, I know it - in my bones. And I cannot imagine life without them."

Brandon followed her eyes to the toddler and smiled. "I'm quite fond of her. She seems a tough little one."

"I believe the feeling is mutual, Brandon. And yes, I like to think she is quite tough," Elia smiled warmly before the previous events of the morning ran through her mind. "She's very confused about her father, I think."

"How so?"

"He left so suddenly and I think she could not make sense of it. And then we came here…" Elia sighed. "She is upset with him, I know that."

"Well, then she's smart as well," he muttered. "Half the realm would champion her." That garnered a snort of a laugh from Elia which drew out a laugh from Brandon, first softly. Then they both laughed without a care to hold it back.

"Oh," Elia breathed, trying to collect herself and wiping away some of the tears of laughter that had escaped. "It feels good to laugh."

"Aye," he concurred as his own laughter slowed. Then she realized he was staring at her. Slowly he brought one hand to her face, pausing for a moment as though he were waiting for her to pull back - but she did not. And gently, his fingers grazed over her cheek. "You missed a few," he said quietly, his voice low and deep. "I am glad these are from joy and not sorrow."

Something inside her told her she should pull back from his touch, that it was inappropriate. Perhaps it was the fact they were alone, secluded from the harsh world around them, that she did not stop him - and instead let herself relish in the exhilarating calm she felt at that moment. The breeze from the river sailed around them, crisp, raw and soothing. "I suppose we must be glad when we can find some happiness to hold onto in this world," she whispered, warm brown eyes meeting the steely grey of the north.

It was then that Rhaenys scurried back over to them. They both seemed to wake from their thoughts in a start. "Sit?" the toddler prodded her mother, tugging on the ivory skirt of her dress.

"Of course, my love," she said in a rush, taking a seat in the grass and tearing her gaze away from the northerner quickly. Elia could feel his eyes on her but dared not meet them. "What do you have here?" she asked Rhaenys looking at a bundle in her hands.

"Flowers, mama," she whispered excitedly, handing her a few ragged red pieces.

"Those were under your mummer's heart tree," Brandon said, as though he found his voice anew. He'd taken a seat on the grass as well.

Elia continued to keep her eyes away from him and instead focused on the dark red flowers in her daughter's hands. "They're called Dragon's breath."

He scoffed lightly. "Of course they are. They remind me a bit of the leaves of a weirwood tree," he remarked fondly. "I suppose that was the intention."

With Elia sitting, Rhaenys began to run her fingers through her mother's hair before placing a few pieces of dragon's breath in her dark brown hair where the loose strands met the part tied away. "Thank you," Elia whispered to her daughter before bending her head down to kiss her cheek and then tickle her.

"You look a bit like a weirwood tree now," Brandon observed with a half-smile.

She gave him a puzzled look with the threat of offense taken. "Should I take that as a compliment?"

He nodded to her ivory dress. "Your white gown, the dark red flowers. And yes, I meant that as a compliment, my Queen. Weirwoods are...quite beautiful."

Elia had always thought northerners and their accents to be harsh and cold, just like their climate. But now she found her mind changed.

"I'm not lying," he said, breaking her from her thoughts when she did not reply. "It truly was a compliment."

"No, I - I was just thinking your accent is...different than I once thought northerners would speak."

"Oh?" he asked, intrigued. "What is it like then?"

_ Comforting, warm_. "Just different, that is all."

Rhaenys tumbled into Elia's lap then, playing with the skirt of her gown and humming to herself. "I should perhaps take her back to the Keep soon," Elia finally said, her voice quiet. Somehow they had managed not to talk about the one thing that they really should have talked about. "Are you ready to meet with the Small Council...and him?" she asked, running her hand through Rhaenys's hair gently.

There was only silence and the sound of the river nearby and leaves rustling for a few moments. Then Brandon spoke once more. "As ready as one can be, I suppose. Should I expect him to be as mad as his father?"

"No, but….but his unpredictability…"

"Are you certain he understands what his own father has done?" There was no malice in his tone, just earnestness. "Of what he is trying to do with my sister?"

She raised her eyes slowly from her daughter to him, meeting his eyes with naked honesty. "There are very few things of which I am certain anymore, Brandon."

* * *

It felt like some kind of miracle that the coronation had gone so smoothly. No surprises, no incidents. All as it should be, as much as that ever was possible.

The reception was to be held the next day after they held the first negotiation to resolve the woes brought on by both Aerys and Rhaegar. And so the next morning they commenced - beginning with House Baratheon.

When Elia and Rhaegar entered the room, Rhaelle Baratheon was already there, waiting for them and the necessary members of the small council who would attend.

"Aunt, thank you for joining," Rhaegar greeted her, unable to hide the wariness he clearly felt in her presence. "Will Cousin Robert be here soon?"

"Oh, I'm afraid you shall have to settle for me, nephew. As it happens, my grandson shall not be attending."

"What?" the King asked, incredulous. Even Elia could not hide her surprise at that information. "What do you mean?"

"'_It's really quite simple_.'" She enunciated each word with delight. Elia's quickly went back to The Worst Meeting as she heard Rhaelle repeat Rhaegar's own words.

And then Lady Baratheon smiled pleasantly. "He's no longer in the capital."

* * *

_**-Elia's conversation with Rhaegar is really my version of a super mini-meta/critique on the way GRRM has partly written her role in the books. **_

_**-I find it laughable that people think Elia's mother held the power in arranging the marraige with Rhaegar - just because of what Oberyn *kind of* said? At the end of the day, Aerys decided and he wasn't gonna listen to anyone but himself. Like GTFO here lol**_

_**-This was supposed to be my funny and slightly more political and non-angsty fic since my other fic is ALL angst - and then I just leaned in real strong on Elia and Brandon. Le sigh.**_

**_-A question/survey: why do you read stories on FF vs AO3? I'm a bit tempted to only post on one site cause posting on both seems superfluous but let me know your thoughts_**

_**-And finally - drop a review and a follow/favorite while you're here **_


	10. Chapter 10

She did not often come to the capital.

Since Rhaelle Baratheon was sent away as a child to Storm's End, the Targaryen princess only came to her first home sparingly and even then, never for long. That was perhaps why the memory of when she first left was so firmly ingrained in her mind.

Betha Blackwood had tried hard to set her children onto good paths for marriage, arranged as they were - and all for not. One by one, those plans fell away. It was the night before Rhaelle's departure when she saw her mother speak to her father like no one ever dared. Rhaelle, tiny as she was, had snuck into her father's solar and hidden herself away behind a cabinet in the corner as she watched her parents.

"If you had only said no to Dunc, none of this would have come to pass," her mother had yelled at her father. Her mother's dark hair was loose and wild, flowing strong. "But you let him do as he pleased and now the others follow suit - and we lose our little girl before she has even bled!"

"It had to be done, you know that," King Aegon had bemoaned. "Do you think I want this?"

"Your reforms will hold no sway now, surely you know that," she scoffed. "And all because you let our children do as they please."

His face was solemn - though unyielding. "Who was I to say no when _we _married for love?"

"The King!" Betha answered resolutely. "And our children have a duty to respect the agreements we make with the noble houses - what is our word good for if it crumbles to dust so easily?" She paused to collect herself but her breath was already broken. "How do we ever explain this to her?" Then her mother collapsed onto the chair with a small sob. "Rhae is so young," she whispered, shaking her head in sorrow, her dark locks still and quiet now.

The King walked over to her, placing a hand on her shoulder carefully. "She has always been dutiful and strong. I'm sure she will do well with Lyonel and his family."

Rhaelle had inched away then, her mother's sobs fading into the air as she crept back to her bedroom.

The next day she was sent off to Storm's End, watching as the red castle grew smaller and smaller, blurring into nothing eventually in her tears.

Now as a woman decades older, sitting once more in the Red Keep before her brother's grandson, she could not help but think back to that moment.

_So many men who hold power abandon their duty and then foist it upon others. _

_No more. _

Rhaegar was staring at her in shock. "What do you mean - 'he is no longer in the capital?'"

Rhaelle Baratheon looked upon her great-nephew, now King, with a dull expression. "Robert has left." _Surely that was clear enough. _

The only response she was given were owlish blinks of the eye.

"He is _literally _not here," she continued, observing what appeared to be befuddlement on his face before taking a seat at the table. "Neither body nor soul. I'm not sure how much clearer I could be." She watched as the young King clearly found himself frustrated by her words.

"We had thought he would be here, aunt, as he is the head of House Baratheon. Are you -?"

"Am I going to represent him? No, I just came here to see if you think this dress flatters me," she answered with a small flourish of her hand across her skirt.

His lips formed a tight, thin line.

"Consider me his envoy," Rhaelle answered resolutely. "Or do I need to explain that as well?"

"I understand," Rhaegar replied in a somewhat strained tone. "Let us begin then."

_Good, _she thought to herself in satisfaction. _Now you may learn what it is to not have every being around you fall at your feet. _

As they all took a seat around the table, the older woman took in her crowd. There was the King, of course. Next to him was Queen Elia, who Rhaelle greeted with a genuine smile and look of respect. _But why have the gods cursed you to be saddled with this man, my dear? _Entering behind the King and Queen had come a man she believed to be the Master of Coin. _Chelsted, is it not? _

Then there were the ever loyal knights - Dayne and Whent - standing sentry by the door. And finally there was one more, she observed, now sitting on the other side of her nephew.

"Lord Connington. I did not expect to see you here."

The young stormlord with hair ablaze and eyes a cool contrast gave her an obliging bow. "My lady."

"Lord Connington thought he could be of service in our...discussion, aunt. He knows the stormlands better than I and offered to be of service, if he could."

"Well, I am near thrice his age and know the stormlands enough for us all, but if this is what you want, so be it." Rhaelle appraised the man. She wondered if this was his audition of sorts to be Hand. The fool Merryweather had been sent off - is a follower to take his place? _Where is Tywin? Surely Rhaegar would have asked the arrogant lion to come back. _

It was no matter. In fact, it was better this way.

"Princess," Rhaegar began. "Aunt." Now his tone had become familiar, warm.

The prince-now-King would fare as well with honeyed words as he would with his harp with Rhaelle.

Something he would soon find out.

"I would like to begin by offering my most sincere and ardent apologies for my actions and for interfering with the betrothal between Lord Baratheon and Lady Stark. It was not - "

"That will do," Rhaelle cut him off, ending her words with a bored sigh. "I care not for your reasons nor your false words of apology. You'll surely spout nonsense to me of your deep love or something of the like." He could only look at her in shock, that she dare interrupt him so. "It is done and cannot now be undone. How shall you make amends, pray?"

The King's eyes flitted briefly to Chelsted before returning to her just as quickly. "To compensate for the betrothal, I would like to offer to pay the dowry you would have received from House Stark."

Silence enveloped the room. Chelsted moved and his chair scratched the stone floor and it sounded like the harshest noise imaginable.

"That is a good start," the former princess noted. "But I think to show just how _keenly _you feel the sting of your insult upon House Baratheon, it would do to increase that. Unless the Crown has the same paltry finances as House Stark?"

Chelsted scoffed in offense. "Of course not! The treasury is dripping in gold! We - "

"What our Master of Coin means to say…" Rhaegar gritted out, breaking the second fool's words before more was revealed. "Yes, we can accommodate that. Would doubling suffice?"

"It might. Though..." Rhaelle pondered for a moment. "Do you remember what happened the last time House Targaryen broke a Baratheon betrothal?"

"These circumstances are different." The Griffin lord decided to insert himself then. "No Targaryen was promised to a Baratheon in this case," Connington argued.

_Bold, you are, boy. So be it. _

"Do you know, you're right," Rhaelle seemingly concurred with a false cheer before a harsh chill took over her face. "This _is _different. The Crown has disrupted the betrothal and agreement between _two _noble houses. I wonder that our new King has so little respect for the noble houses of the realm - and when one of those houses is a familian branch no less." She added the last part with 'tsk' and chastising tone as her eyes shifted to Rhaegar. "And after all his father did as well? It says much of how you mean to begin your reign."

Rhaegar looked at her, his indigo eyes betraying every ounce of annoyance he surely felt. "I assume you have a suggestion for resolution?"

"Of course," she noted casually. "As you seem to have forgotten both the past and our family's history, I wonder if we would not do well to examine it once more at present to find a way forward."

"You would ask for more than the dowry?" Connington asked with righteous skepticism.

"If you look back, it took a rebellion, a trial, Duncan relinquishing his claim and then…" Then she paused. Her jaw tightened momentarily before she settled herself and continued. "And then the mistakes of my father and brother were only resolved for good when I was sent away as a child. Is that how we should resolve it now, hmm?"

Elia let out a short gasp. Rhaelle hated that her theatrics caused her this pain - but she hoped the purpose would be served upon her nephew-King.

"You...you cannot mean," Rhaegar began and the older woman found herself genuinely interested in his expression for she had not expected it. He seemed not only upset - but worried. "Rhaenys is too young."

After a few moments of silence, letting him stew in his thoughts, she finally spoke. "No, that is not what I mean. I shall not ask for your daughter, even as a ward or bride for young Renly as they are near in age together." She watched the King let out a short sigh of relief. "I shall not demand that which was forced upon me. Nor shall I inflict another wrong upon your _true _wife after all you have committed. Though I must say, I find it quite surprising that you dare to show such concern for your daughter now when you disappeared without a word for the wise and left behind both your children. I did not think you cared a lick for them. Why start now?"

Rhaegar's face winced as though she had slapped him and she knew she had aimed true. Perhaps it was petty, but Rhaelle relished seeing foolish men stew in anger - and all from the truth. _ Always a bitter concoction to swallow, the truth. _

"So if you do not mean my daughter, what are you suggesting, aunt?"

She smiled pleasantly. "A Baratheon as the next Queen."

Silence. Again.

"You have no girls to speak of though," the griffin lord said slowly and with confusion.

"How observant you are. But I _do _have two grandsons who both shall surely be married soon - one of them shall do to produce a girl within the next few years, I'm sure. And then that which was destroyed by my father and brother may now be rectified. And until a girl is born and the betrothal fulfilled, I propose the Crown's taxes from Weeping Town's port go to House Baratheon."

Rhaegar looked to Elia then to Connington and then to Chelsted. They all seemed to mull it over before looking back to her.

It was Elia who spoke next. "Princess," she began with a steady voice. "What if neither of your grandsons has a girl?"

"Ah, now one of you speaks sense. I'd thought of that. If neither Robert nor Stannis produce a girl who would be of a suitable age with your young prince, then the tax agreement remains."

"The dowry payment is one thing. But this is too much, my king," Connington argued. "Simply because Robert Baratheon lost the girl he wanted?"

"You think this is about the girl?" Rhaelle scoffed. "This is about the realm knowing that the Crown respects the houses of these lands. Should all lords now fear that House Targaryen can simply take their daughters when they want? That they will be forced to break sacred agreements?" Then her eyes narrowed as she looked at Rhaegar once more. "And this is about House Targaryen acknowledging insult upon insult against House Baratheon. You may also consider a Baratheon as queen payment for the price my son and good-daughter paid to find a bride for you."

After a brief moment of tense silence, Chelsted cleared his throat. "I believe the treasury can handle these changes," he added, looking to the King.

"Yes, fine. Let's settle this now," Rhaegar concurred, moving his chair back to rise.

_So impatient to be done, are we? _"I am not finished," Rhaelle said resolutely, holding up one hand. "The remaining point is what shall happen if the betrothal is broken by the Crown."

The king had reclaimed his seat and gazed at her steadily, with utter certainty. "But we shall not."

Before she could stop herself, a snort of incredulous laughter escaped Rhaelle. "You'll forgive me if I do not believe you, nephew. Look where we find ourselves. Surely you must know we require some guarantee of your word - for your word alone is not enough."

"Perhaps a fostering could be arranged in such a case, my lady," Connington offered, as though it were in his power to do so. _Arrogant boy. _

"No, no fostering. I think perhaps a bit of land will do - with a tidy sum to build it up. That should suffice."

Rhaegar's shoulders seemed to ease then. "Well, I think that can be accomplished - only in the event it is necessary, of course. We shall look upon what tracts may serve best."

"That won't be necessary, I think I have an idea for that which may serve."

"My lady?"

She looked at him plainly. "Why, Summerhall, of course."

And there came the silence again - before it was slain by pomp and anger.

Rhaegar rose from his seat quickly. "You can't be serious!"

_Of course it's those blasted ruins that inspire this theater. _"If my tone has confused you, let me be clear." All humor had evaporated from Rhaelle's face then. "I am quite serious."

"That is not possible. You ask too much."

"I ask less than you have dared."

"Summerhall is a Targaryen keep."

"And I am a Targaryen."

"You are a _Baratheon_," Connington argued.

Rhaelle's head whipped to the red-haired man. "Do not presume tell me who I am, boy." She held his gaze, harsh and unyielding. "I am a Targaryen, I am Dornish twice over, I am of the First Men and the Riverlands and I am of the stormlands, as well. _I am the realm_. I know exactly who I am and what has come before me." Then her attention focused on Rhaegar. "And I know what I want - to ensure that enough is done to make sure the heirs of House Targaryen do not commit such acts as you have. What is clear is that the past was not enough to chasten you."

He shook his head at her slowly. "Do not ask me for Summerhall, aunt."

"I am not asking for Summerhall. I am asking for the Crown to honor its obligations - and seeing as it has a tendency to do otherwise, perhaps an incentive is needed. Are you anticipating the Crown reneging on its obligations?" she asked quizzically.

"Well, no, but -"

"Then why should this be so upsetting to you? You'll only need forfeit your ruined keep if you break your word. Surely by now you would do everything to ensure you keep your word?"

Before he could speak, it was Elia who rose to the occasion. "Aegon will honor this agreement. I will ensure my son does not renege on his promise. And if for some reason, should anyone interfere with this - then Summerhall is forfeit." She looked to her husband then. "But that day shall not come to pass, do you not agree, my king?"

"It shall never come to pass. Never."

"Are we in agreement?" Lady Baratheon asked imperiously.

"We are in agreement. Let us be done with this once and for all," he said impatiently.

Rhaelle stood then, peering at her kin with her chin raised. "Good. I hope that what takes place now humbles our family for generations to come." Then she stared pointedly at her silver-haired nephew. "And that the lessons of the past shall not be necessary ever again."

She gave a short bow as she began making her way to the door. "Oh, and I shall relay this to Robert upon my return to Storm's End. If there is anything lacking, he shall reply. And as for House Stark, he can raise that with his companion."

"Companion?" Lord Connington asked as Rhaelle got to the door.

She turned to look at him. "Well, yes. Lord Eddard. He left with Robert as well. Did you not know - where one goes, the other follows?"

* * *

The reception hall was grand and decorated with flowers that sought to compliment the black and red drapery all around. Lords and ladies flitted about, swirls of silk and velvet spun with fine thread of gold and silver.

In a past life, Brandon might have relished a celebration such as this.

But this was not that life.

He hadn't wanted to attend the coronation reception. How could he ever raise a glass to the new King?

But Jon Arryn had tried to convince him that it was better to show a face open to reconciliation, no matter that there was none to be had. Or none that he could see. The Vale lord had stayed while Robert and Ned left, wanting to gain a sense of the new layout with Aerys gone, he said.

He did not completely trust Lord Arryn - not after what Ned had told him about what he heard of him and Lord Tully's conversation. No, he did not trust him as Ned did. But he would be lying if he said he did not want to see how Rhaegar was perceived and accepted with his mad father gone.

_Did they think him to be as bright a star as before? Or was he tainted by his actions with Lyanna. _

By some miracle, only those in the room that day knew what had been said. But he did not know long it would stay that way. He had told Lyanna he did not want her to attend. And by some larger miracle, she listened. Likely because she was sick of being gossiped about.

_Marriage_. He loved his sister but even he knew this was folly.

So he too wanted to get a lay of the lands of the court. That - and he'd grown restless. In body and mind. Most of him wanted to be done with this place. He had hoped to begin negotiations quickly, but Robert's grandmother had wanted to go first. Saying no to her did not seem an option, and so he was meant to meet with Rhaegar and his lickspittle councillors tomorrow.

And so he was restless, though in different ways. He wanted to leave - _and yet. _

His eyes crossed the room then, centering on the crowd of people surrounding the king and queen and his gaze settled on the latter. Elia was dressed in a fine red gown, lined with black and gold thread. He found himself thinking that she could be dressed in a sack and would like a queen.

The northern lord took a quick but deep sip of wine, and it rippled through him, spurring him like he would a steed. And so he rose from his seat and approached her where she stood with her husband. The king tensed immediately upon his arrival.

"Lord Stark - " Rhaegar began before he was cut off.

"My queen," Brandon interjected, not sparing a second glance to Rhaegar. "Would you do me the honor of a dance?"

If he'd been asked to swear it before the gods, he would say he had seen happiness for a mere moment in her eyes when he asked that question. But just as quick, her face was the epitome of courtly politeness. "Of course," she replied steadily. "it would be my honor."

He took her hand and led them to the floor. And as the music began, he seized the moment to lead them as one. Elia looked up at him with raised eyebrows curious for an answer. "You know this dance?"

A mischievous half-grin tugged at the side of his mouth. "Should I be offended you're surprised? I didn't know you thought me a heathen, my queen."

With their hands clasped together and one pair raised above their heads, Brandon turned her and Elia smiled as she gazed over her shoulder at him. "I shall take that as a yes, then."

"Well, it sounds a bit familiar. Though this is something new for me." He turned her once more so that they were facing each other. And his voice had become ever so slightly lower, softer, as he looked at her. "All together new - but I think it good."

Elia watched him for a moment and he could see something fall away in her eyes at his words and as his hand cradled the small of her back. "Good," she repeated quietly. It seemed to be all that she could muster. Then her face changed in expression. "Your brother is gone," she stated.

"He is," Brandon confirmed. "With Robert. There was no point to him being here, he should not have come to begin with."

She nodded though looked at him with a curious expression. As they spun, he looked about the room and his eyes landed on Robert's grandmother and somehow he instinctively straightened his back.

"That woman scares me," he muttered.

Elia followed his gaze and then seemed to stifle a laugh. He could tell she was biting her cheek then, trying to hide the smile attempting to escape.

The young Stark lord looked at her with curious but intrigued eyes. "Does that please you?"

The Queen looked away into the crowd, but the smile had escaped by that point. "Of course it does. How could I not revel in a man trembling before a woman?"

"I never said I _'trembled _,'" he clarified but laughed all the same. Seeing her smile felt as good as when they teased each other, he found himself thinking as he looked upon her.

Elia's eyes shifted from Rhaelle Baratheon back to him. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

With a quick shake, he woke himself. "Like what?"

"Like that," she intoned.

Then he simply smiled, turning her once more though holding her gaze. "This is how I look I can't very well change that."

"You know what my words intended," she exhaled with a frustrated sigh.

"Do I? I'm not sure that I do," he replied innocently as they moved about the dance floor.

Elia schooled her face to neutrality. "I think you take pleasure in vexing me."

He smiled again. "I take pleasure in seeing you amused." He turned her once more, then a spin, before they were back facing the other. Then he looked across her shoulder to the dais where the King sat. "Your husband on the other hand - I would take pleasure in 'vexing' him, as you say."

"I have little trouble believing that," she replied easily.

He looked to Rhaegar once more. "The women here fawn over him. I suppose he is a pretty man, your husband." That earned him a scoff of laughter. "Is that what you prefer?"

"What I prefer does not matter. We cannot always live as such."

"And if you did? What would you choose?" he pried. They turned and her gown spun above both their feet.

"That is not how I think," Elia reiterated. "What good could come of that?"

"Well, it would entertain my curiosity, for one," he answered as their joined hands raised above their heads and their heads turned to face each other.

"And that is reason enough?" she inquired.

"It is _a _reason. And surely you would not deprive me of such joy, Elia." Whether he realized or not, Brandon had pulled the queen a bit closer as they continued their dance.

She looked away as couples circled around them. "I...I'm not sure there would be any point to answering."

They turned again, and their eyes held to the other once more. "Your words hold great value for me. I am alive because of them, aren't I? If you're the knight who saved me, then I suppose words are your sword, my queen." A wolfish warm smile crossed his face.

That brought a genuine smile back to her as they stared at each other and turned around the floor. Then within a moment, her smile fell away as she blinked and shook her head slightly. She pulled her body away a bit. "You're doing it again."

"What?"

"Looking at me."

"Well, I have to look somewhere, don't I?" he reasoned.

"Not like that," she pushed, her voice beginning to shake slightly.

His smile fell away then, but his face remained warm. "Perhaps it can't be helped," he attested, his voice deep and quiet. His thumb gently swiped along the silk of her dress. All of a sudden, the feel of his hand on her waist, of holding her, felt more pronounced. And when she looked at him, he suddenly felt unmoored and yet utterly grounded.

He couldn't decipher what was in her eyes when she spoke however. "I'm sure you mean it as a jape," Elia uttered quietly, "but when you look at me like that - "

"I didn't mean -" '_A jape?' _His eyes were honest, he wanted to declare.

"I already run the risk of the court believing I approve of Rhaegar's actions because they are all fools - 'she's Dornish,' they'll say," Elia whispered in imitation and with contempt. "I do not need them to believe the rest of their unfounded beliefs of Dorne are affirmed by me appearing to - to…"

"To what?" he pried with curiosity.

"To appear as though...I...because of how you are looking at me - " she cut herself off as her face flushed in annoyance.

Brandon looked at her for a moment as he took in her meaning. Then he schooled his face. "Is your husband a good lover?"

She looked away with a gasp, her face shocked and even redder now. "How can you ask me that after what I just told you?"

He looked up, away. "Better if you seem angry with me, is it not? And it seems I said enough to draw true ire, I believe."

She huffed in exasperation, her lips forming a slight pout. "You know more of the south than I thought, Lord Stark."

"So we're back to Lord Stark, are we?"

"For now."

"I shall pray to the gods - even your new ones - that it is fleeting." He smiled roguishly then, hoping to win back her levity.

She looked at him for a brief moment and he was given the comfort from the expression in her eyes that she was not truly angry. Then she looked away once more. "You are maddening, do you know that?"

"In a good way, I hope?"

She bit her lip, trying to hide a smile. "A good way," she admitted.

The song ended and the couples around them began to slip away from the floor, while some waited for a new tune. Their motion together came to a halt, and Brandon paused as he held her, knowing that in a few moments he would need to draw back. Finally he did so slowly, and took her hand in his, bringing it to his lips. "Thank you for the dance," he told her reverently, his eyes fixed on hers. "My queen."

"And you, Lord Stark," she said loudly, as though she wanted others to know they were simply a lord paying his respects to his Queen.

For that was what they were, were they not?

As she walked back to the dais, Elia tried to erase the thoughts and feelings flowing throughout her. Just as she was about to take a seat, she was approached by Rhaelle Baratheon.

"My queen, it is lovely to see you here after such absurd discussions today," she greeted her.

"I hope they were satisfactory?" Elia asked as she offered a seat and then sat beside her..

"Quite. Though unfortunate that all this was necessary," Rhaelle commented. "Though to be honest, your fool of a husband may have done me a favor."

Elia's eyebrows raised up in question. "Truly?"

"Lord Arryn put Robert onto this path before I had a chance to stop him. I think my grandson wanted to marry the Stark girl as much for her as her brother," she laughed. "Now I will try to steer him for the better." Elia nodded in understanding and then raised her hand to beckon for a server. "I hope I did not add to your stress. I have no intention of making life harder for you or for Rhaella."

"That is kind of you to say. And reassuring," the queen confirmed with a small nod. "When do you return to Storm's End?"

"I shall leave tomorrow." A server arrived then to pour each of them a glass of wine. "Tis a short journey luckily."

"How is Stannis? And the youngest boy, Renly?" the queen inquired.

Rhaelle smiled sadly. "Stannis." A slight sigh left her unbidden. "I'm not sure I remember the last time he smiled. He and Robert are complete opposites. Robert quite reminds me of my late good-father. Loud, daring - and easy to anger."

Well, Elia did not need to be told that. It was evident enough.

"Stannis on the other hand is quiet and somber." She took a small sip of wine. "Too much so for his age."

"And Renly? What is he like?"

"Sweet boy. Not a care in the world. Though I dare say he is quite lonely. He's much younger, you see."

"My brother has a daughter about the same age as him, I believe. She's a darling girl. She does not want for company either - my other brother has seen to that."

Rhaelle raised an eyebrow as half a smile tugged at her lips. "So I've heard."

Elia smiled fondly. "He's a bit unconventional, Oberyn. But caring and loving. He may be a second son, but in Dorne, he was the third child - your equivalent of a third son, I suppose. It can be hard for them to find their way - spare to the spare, so to speak."

"Indeed," Rhaelle agreed, taking a slow sip of wine. "Renly is a precocious young boy. I do hope to find a good...outlet for him in the future."

"If…" Elia paused for a moment before continuing. "If you should ever like, I'm sure my brother would be happy to host him, anyone of your family, if you like. Young Renly might like the Water Gardens. I've never met a child who did not."

The older Baratheon gazed at her with a shrewd smile. "It is a shame there is not more cooperation between the Stormlands and Dorne. The marches have been quiet as of late. Though It's always better to ensure such peace remains, of course. Peace should not be taken for granted after all."

"Of course. Peace is paramount," Elia agreed. "You know why the Water Gardens were built, I trust?"

"Of course."

"I used to spy on my mother and Doran when I was young. I wanted to hear everything she told him, how she taught him. When I was older, she took me under her wing as well, of course. But the one lesson I remember the most was when I was still young enough for the pools in the Water Gardens. I'd snuck off to find Doran and my mother. They were watching the children playing below. And she told him that she must remember them in everything he does. She told him it was Daenerys that said to her own son."

"A beautiful sentiment," Rhaelle observed. "One, I fear, is never a guiding force here."

"Indeed. Though I find myself always remembering that lesson - to think of the children. Mine own, the realm's."

The music filled the room and couples brushed past them in their dance. Elia watched the swaying of skirts and shoulders rising and falling in laughter around them. And before she knew it, as her eyes danced through the room, they inevitably met with the grey eyes of Brandon Stark.

When Elia tore her eyes away and looked back to Rhaelle, she found the older woman gazing back at her with a curious expression. Then the older woman took the Queen's hand, giving it a soft pat. "You have a good heart, my queen. Take care it does not go without a shield to guard it."

All she could do was nod in agreement.

"Well, I believe it is time I retire. I have enjoyed your company," Rhaelle said as she stood. Then she moved to embrace the queen and leaned her lips up to her ear.

"I can only steer Robert so much. He is not one to be controlled. Arryn was a fool for thinking so," she whispered quickly. "And your husband is pursuing madness. You know the Faith won't stand for it."

As they pulled away from the other, Elia looked at her trying to keep her face neutral while registering Rhaelle's words. "I...I understand," she replied as her mind began to swirl.

Rhaelle gave her a slight bow of her head in acknowledgment. "Well, I shall write to your brother about visiting the Water Gardens." She began to leave the dais but before she did, she turned to Elia once more.

"Sometimes, my dear, it is best to create new paths for ourselves."

* * *

As Rhaelle peeled back the sheets of her bed, she realized how tired she was. And how she yearned to be back at Storm's End. It was something the little girl who had left here would never have imagined would be possible.

She thought back to a few nights earlier when she bid Robert goodbye. He would not have been able to restrain himself during any negotiation with Rhaegar and so they both decided it was better if he left. As she lay down, a heavy sigh left her, wondering if he would restrain himself from any rash actions. She was not lying when she told the queen she was unsure how long she could hold him back. He never dealt well with being denied something - and Rhaelle did not believe he would start now.

Outside the window of her chambers, the waves of the Blackwater created a lulling rhythm. _Perhaps the younger Stark will curb him some, _she thought idly. Brandon Stark had wanted his brother out of the capital too, it seemed. "He says it is unwise for Ned to be here when he is here as well," Robert had told her before he left. "That he doesn't trust Rhaegar to not hold them all here or something of the like."

The young northern lord wasn't as foolish as Rhaelle thought, it seemed. Her lids were heavy as she closed her eyes, and her mind thought of watching her grandson ride away with his wolf companion. The moon had gifted them with just a sliver of itself, as they began their journey back to the stag's home. She hoped Robert would not do anything stupid, at least not before she got back.

Her hand floated over her loose hair, matching the rhythm of the waves. Her mother used to do that when she would not fall asleep - soothing and comforting. Safe. It never failed to send her to dreams.

As she began to fall asleep, Rhaelle went over the day's events once more. She felt good about what she had accomplished, that she had set in motion pieces that would grant her and her family - all of them - stability for the future.

Or so she hoped. For nothing was ever certain.

_Would mother be proud, _she wondered?

And so Rhaelle hoped once more. Because after everything that had happened in her life, that was her deepest reserve.


End file.
